Sotto copertura
by LoveAnimeForever
Summary: COMPLETE - Don x Danny - Another murder, another case, but there's a catch for Don and Danny... "We need you two to go undercover. For our case. As a couple." "You're joking, right?" "Sadly, no."
1. Chapter 01: Crocifissione

**Sotto copertura  
**

_Chapter One: Crocifissione (Crucifixion)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"Isn't it wonderful, how, the moment you _almost_ start missing the crime scenes, they come back with the craziest murder and remind you why life is better when it's boring?"

"That's funny, Hawkes."

Sheldon grinned at Stella as they entered their latest crime scene in a few weeks. The bedroom of a Brooklyn apartment, two John Does, fully clothed; nailed to the wall at the ankles and wrists with legs together and hands out. Their heads hung, chins against their chests. Their hair – both short, one blond and one brunet – covered their faces, so Sheldon lifted the head of one to examine his neck.

He frowned. "No immediate signs of struggle; no bruises, cuts, wounds… Except for the nails, that is."

By the bed, Stella was giving the sheets a cursory inspection before breaking out her ultra-violet light.

"Nothing over here, either." She looked up, crossed herself out of habit. "Crucified, huh."

"Yeah. We're probably looking for either a fanatic, or a blasphemer." A familiar, dry voice.

"Mac," Stella greeted happily. "Weren't you working on-?"

"The cold case files get… well, cold, after a while. Came out to get a little fresh air."

"Some _fresh_ air."

Sheldon smiled as he watched his two superiors – though they insisted on never being treated as such – banter playfully. On one hand, it was vaguely depressing that the CSIs were so desensitized to their crime scenes that they could joke while faced with two crucified corpses, even if it was a coping mechanism. (Which, Sheldon had found out while in the pathologist's lab, it was; and quite effective, too. But that aside- ) On the other hand, the chemistry between Mac and Stella was just. _There_. They _had _to be a couple. They just didn't know it yet. And Sheldon couldn't help it that he was the romantic type. Call it a coping mechanism. The rest of the lab thought the same, anyway.

Eventually, Mac turned to face him. "Any preliminary examination results, while we wait for the official ME to get here, Hawkes?"

"I'd say TOD at least eight hours ago and no defense wounds. Nothing under the nails to indicate a struggle. In fact, no wounds at all. And if you take a look at the face…" He lifted John Doe Number One's head again.

"Peaceful," Mac noted obligingly, with a slight nod.

"Sign of a true Christian," Stella commented, now stripping the bed, "death is no longer. There's nothing to fear."

"Except getting nailed to your wall, maybe." Mac began turning out the contents of the bedside table. "Although that was before death, wasn't it."

Stella raised an eyebrow disapprovingly.

"Well, enough about Number One… Number Two, now…"

"If you don't mind, _Detective_ Hawkes, could you stop stealing my job?"

Sid Hammerback. Slightly eccentric – though "slightly" was probably a drastic understatement – else a great guy and well above competent at his job. Sheldon stepped away from the corpse, yielding the turf to his colleague.

"I tell you, Hawkes, you should never have left the autopsy room. You're sure you don't regret it?"

Eyes rolled all around. Sid picked up where Sheldon left off, examining Number Two, and the same was soon pronounced of him as of Number One. No defense wounds, no struggle, and a serene death mask. Photos were taken, and then the two pathologists began to remove the nails that held the victims to the wall – bagging them as evidence – and laid the bodies to the side. In the meantime, spot after luminescent spot was appearing under Stella's ultraviolet search light.

"I got trace. Semen, probably." She cut a sample.

"And I have motive."

Mac's gloved hands held a Bible and a bottle of lubricant, as well as a pair of wallets. Knowing glances passed between the colleagues. Done with the bed, Stella came over, took the wallets and flipped them open.

"And identity. Let's see… One Jonathan Howards," – she gestured at Number One – "and… one Logan Gray."

"Nice to meet you, sirs," Sid greeted pleasantly, his colleagues shaking their heads at his unconventional habit.

"Well," Mac cut in, "let's get these bodies to the lab. You two can get 'acquainted' with our vics while Stella and I finish up here."

The two pathologists departed accordingly, with a few uniform policemen helping to carry the bodies, leaving Stella and Mac to finish processing the crime scene. The room was almost impossibly clean, without any blood marks except for stains on the walls around the nail holes and pools on the floor directly below. No fibers, no shoe- or footprints. A few hairs that were on the bed, but they probably belonged to the victims. The CSIs retreated and processed the rest of the house.

The results – rather, the lack thereof – were similar throughout the apartment as in the bedroom. There had been unwashed plates and cutlery in the kitchenette sink; they were grasping at straws but even the smallest chance of getting the perpetrator's fingerprints was worth packing them in. Last was the trash. The bins in the apartment had been empty, so they checked the apartment complex's dumpster, hoping for a hammer to match the nails or some clothes, maybe evidence of a cleanup. No such luck. Mac and Stella left the scene more than slightly disappointed.

* * *

Back at the lab, Sheldon caught them along the corridor on the way to the trace lab and handed them the preliminary autopsy report. After Stella leafed through it, Sheldon directed her back to a set of photos of the victims' wrists, cut open to reveal the crushed bone.

"Bones were hammered straight through with the nails; I'm surprised no one called nine-one-one."

"I did a little interviewing before I entered the crime scene; the neighbors said they figured our victims were doing a bit of DIY work. No cause for alarm."

"DIY, huh." Stella glanced at the other photos in the report, her mind matching them to the images in her memory. "Not something you can do to yourself…"

Sheldon shrugged. "The call that came in was from one of the neighbors, though. Discrepancy?"

"No, I talked to the lady. Shannon McKay, the super. Not to say the neighbors aren't suspect, but we can leave that until later – for now, they all seem clean. Said our vics were quite the extroverted couple. They had an appointment for breakfast with her, today. She got worried when they didn't show. But, no recounts of suspicious persons from the night before. Security reported a technician-type. They'll be dropping by with the security footage by tomorrow."

"It could've easily been a disguise, but… No clothes at the dump. Nothing handyman vogue in the closets, either."

"Our perp's good. We're going to have a hard time pinning him down, even with the security footage."

"Well, I've sent the blood samples from the nails straight to DNA. Hopefully there'll be a hit. And you'll find the nails in the lab-"

Just as Sheldon finished his sentence, they reached said labs. Through the glass walls, they could see Danny working at the computer and a few rather bulky evidence envelopes on a bench.

"Yeah, right there."

"Thanks, Sheldon."

They entered, Danny looking up when he felt his colleagues' presence.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey. Congratulations on holding out longer than Mac on the cold files," Stella replied, as way of greeting.

Beside her, Mac's expression was almost guilty, but amusement won out.

"You kiddin' me? I had to _chase_ him out of his office. Was hoping he'd get some rest. Turns out he snuck off to another crime scene with signora Bonasera."

Stella thanked god for the make-up hiding the faint blush on her cheeks. "You accusing me of something, Messer?"

"No, ma'am," he returned quickly, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

The two First Grades rolled their eyes.

"Well, seein' as signor abandoned me and the cold cases, why not you take over, Hawkes. So he and signora can work the new file."

Sheldon nodded and pulled up a chair beside Danny at the computer. As he shifted aside to give his colleague room, they shared conspiratorial grins.

"Alright, alright. Get back to work."

There was, of course, the hint of laughter in Mac's voice. But they all knew work meant work. Danny started filling Sheldon in on the details of the case he and Mac had been working on, while the other two CSIs set to work on the meager haul of evidence they'd collected. They started with the nails.

"Unpromisingly normal," Stella muttered, as she passed one through the laser sights of the handheld spectrometer.

She held her breath as the device searched its database for a spectrum match. "…Steel, low carbon. Damn it, they're just run-of-the-mill-."

A glance from Mac.

She took a deep breath. "Right. I'll head to autopsy for a hair sample, see if we can't get a match."

"You do that. I'll cover the nails."

After his partner left, Mac continued examining the grain of another nail under the microscope, hoping for a unique pattern he could match to a manufacturer, since there hadn't been any brand markings. No go; the grain was perfectly _normal_. Next was the cutlery. He swabbed each utensil of the three sets, sealing the samples in their plastic tubes and labeling them. He would take them down to DNA once Stella returned.

Which she did, carrying two Ziploc bags containing locks of hair. She took over at the microscope after grabbing the evidence envelopes containing the hair they'd found at the scene, and Mac left with the swabs as planned. On the other side of the lab, Sheldon and Danny watched their easy synchronization, how fluidly they _fit_ around each other, and this was on the job, with_out_ any effort.

* * *

"DNA will take a day at the very least, even with priority," Mac announced briskly, when he returned to the lab. "And I bought coffee."

He placed a cup by Stella, who accepted it gratefully. The hair had been perfect matches; in other words, no trace of a possible suspect. The dead ends were starting to grate on her nerves. After so long with_out_ a case, suddenly, here they were on a case with _no_ leads?

"Hey, none for us, Mac?"

"Messer made fun of his boss, Hawkes, and you helped him. You expect me to buy you coffee?"

Danny flashed the grin that usually got _all_ the answers out of female witnesses. "Well, yeah."

"…You got me."

All four CSIs felt the atmosphere in the lab lighten tangibly as Mac passed his remaining colleagues their coffee. The one with his boyish yet handsome grin, the one with the kind smile. Stella was beaming despite herself – and the inconclusive evidence – and Mac. There was a slight upturn to his lips, and you could see it in his eyes. His colleagues were used to the poker face by now.

* * *

After the impromptu coffee break, Mac went back to the cutlery, with powder and duster, for a print. Maybe. After a short mist of white grains and scrutiny under the bright halo lights in the lab, he managed to collect a set of fingerprints from each of two of the three utensil sets. A frown. Stella looked up.

"You're missing a set of prints, I take it?"

He nodded, sighing. "Well, there's nothing we can do. Any luck with the personals?"

"Prints off the Bible and the… bottle, of course. But…" _They're probably not the prints we're looking for._

"That's fine. Let's match them up."

Mac flipped open the report Sheldon had handed them earlier and flipped to the prints Sid had taken off the victims. Stella glanced back and forth between the samples and the prints she'd collected, then sighed.

"Mine match."

The prints Mac had were only partial prints, so he took a little longer. _Match._ He rotated another sample a little before it lined up. _Match_. One had to be rotated a-hundred-eighty. _Match._

"Mine, too."

"…Guess that leaves the wallets."

They set the print samples aside, along with the rest of the evidence they'd already gone through. The last of the unprocessed pile was two slim black leather affairs, with choice design embossing, but otherwise the same as businessmen's wallets everywhere on the street. It seemed everything about this case was perfectly ordinary, except for the deaths themselves – which just made things even harder.

Again the check for prints, and again the lack of results. Nothing seemed missing; cash, receipts, a card or two. A wallet you picked up on the street.

"Church," Stella said finally, breaking the silence, "of the Sacred Infant."

She held out a card with the words printed on in bold elegant font, as well as an address and contact information in simpler small print. Bingo at last? Mac nodded.

"I got that, too."

"Looks like we've got a lead." Stella slumped backward into her chair. "Finally."

"Congrats." Danny stretched and came around the bench to take a look at the card. "Always save the best for last, huh."

Sheldon joined them last. "Let's get a lock on that location, shall we?"

The computer Danny and Sheldon had been using earlier was a powerful machine. Convenient, having that kind of processing power right in the lab – immediate access to the most extensive fingerprint, spectroscopy and map databases in New York. Sheldon did the honors of entering the address that was printed on the card; a few seconds later, the system had a lock on the location. They also brought up the church's website in a browser on the second screen, scrolled through the pages that varied from administration to missions, until they got to the contact page.

"Service is on… Sunday, at ten-thirty in the morning," Stella read off the site. "We've got the admin number here, too. So, Mac. What're you thinking? Do you want to go incognito first?"

"No, we knock down the head pastor's office door and hold him at gunpoint until he surrenders the killer."

"That actually sounds like a good idea."

Stella shot her colleague a pointed look. "Messer."

"No, but really-"

"You too, Hawkes." Mac folded his arms, lips tilting upward again.

Stella suppressed a giggle. "Anyway, how's _your_ case going, boys?"

"It's old. Our main suspect's some old geezer right now, at the best. But we, too, have an address, signora, so don't go getting all high and mighty."

"I wasn't!" But she was smiling as she said it.

"Alright, _children_, it's getting late, so why don't we get dinner and come back to this tomorrow? …Mac, included."

"Another opportunity to overwork wasted," he mock-lamented.

"Dinner it is! I'll go get Sid."

And Stella ushered her three colleagues out of the lab, barely giving them time to clear up the benches and sling their lab coats off onto their hooks.

* * *

Notes:  
No offense meant to any Christians or Catholics who may be reading this.


	2. Chapter 02: Chiesa

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Two: Chiesa (The Church Of The Sacred Infant)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

Sunday. The week had proved unproductive, with all the remaining loose ends tying up into dead knots. Sid had submitted the full autopsy report, without any revelatory discoveries. Security footage had showed a handyman, as described by the security guard, entering and exiting around the time of death. He was their main suspect, but his face had been hidden under a cap, and his clothes had been non-descript – a sleeveless shirt and jeans without any designs on them and a tool belt around his waist – the lack of distinct features would make it difficult to identify him. The only good news, perhaps, had been the news from DNA, and then it hadn't really been "good": semen matched the victims, as expected; but all three samples from the utensils had tested positive for human DNA – two of the samples matched their victims and one didn't match any known profiles they had.

Well, that was that. Stella and Mac would be going to church today, for the first time in a very _long_ time. They were on the lookout for a slightly muscular man, who was good with tools and maybe had a thing against homosexuals. More than likely. They kept their badges out of sight, hiding them a little more carefully than usual, and left their guns in Stella's handbag. She managed to persuade her partner to dress down a little, as well. To fit in. People would assume – as they naturally did, for some unfathomable reason – that they were a couple. They were just a couple coming for church on Sunday morning…

* * *

After the service, Mac and Stella asked around about the victims, passing themselves off as their friends. Most of the people they talked to offered generic but heartfelt condolences and blessings for the future and for their victims' souls. Not so much as a blip on their internal radars, though there was news of a cell group within the church for homosexuals, which their John Does had been attending. They would need to check up on it; but for now, they had an appointment with the head pastor.

* * *

"Good afternoon, pastor."

"Good afternoon. Admin didn't tell me whom I have the pleasure of meeting, Mr and Mrs…?"

The CSIs glanced at each other amusedly.

"Detectives, actually," Mac corrected, showing his badge. "Mac Taylor and-"

"Stella _Bonasera_."

The pastor smiled at the emphasis. "Wilfred Fletcher, nice to meet you." He shook their hands, then offered them seats, which they took. "What can I do for you?"

Stella pulled out their case file from her handbag, placing it on the table. She partner flipped the file open to show the pastor the photographs. Horror on seeing the photographs – which weren't very pretty – and then anxiety.

"We're here regarding the murders of Jonathan Howards and Logan Gray," Mac prompted briskly.

"Yes… I can see that. The whole church mourns for them. If there's anything…?"

"Every scrap of information will help, but, most importantly, we'd like your cooperation in allowing us to interview your congregation and obtain DNA samples when we need them."

The pastor's eyes narrowed. "Are you implying that one of my congregation-"

"No, but it's likely. It's the only lead we have right now, and considering the positions of the victims-"

"My flock does _not_ harbor any wolves, Detective Bonasera." His voice was dripping in disdain.

"_All_ flocks harbor wolves, _pastor_. A responsible shepherd would allow us to _check _for them."

Frustration. Fletcher seemed almost _insulted_ that his congregation was suspect, and refused to doubt its innocence. On the other hand, the detectives were losing their hold on their strongest lead, and Stella was simply fuming on the inside that the pastor would rather jeopardize other human lives, than let them run a harmless investigation. How many church leaders would react in this way? Was it because the victims had been homosexual? Did that somehow lower their priority on Fletcher's mind? She flipped the pages in the files, showing the pastor the photos of the crushed and pierced wrists and ankles. He blanched.

"Looks painful, doesn't it?" she hissed, "You, as their _pastor_, should be _helping_ us to find their murderer, yet here you are, _obstructing_ our investigation."

"I _am_ helping you. The murderer is _not_ part of my church. You have no proof. I will not let you harass my sheep because of a non-existent threat."

"If you ask me, _you-_" _Are the one who should be investigated!_

Stella managed to stop herself, and Mac placed a sympathetic hand on her arm. He usually preferred being a spectator in his colleagues' spats, just as they never stopped him whenever he _did_ lose his cool, but the animosity in the room was getting a little thick. He took over, voice deadly quiet and serious.

"Take a good look at these photos, Fletcher. These things don't happen just once. It will happen again; we don't know when, but it _will_ happen again. And _if_ we find out that you are _harboring_ a murderer, you _will_ pay. Don't forget, the legal system here in New York is _secular_."

The pastor took a deep breath, recovering the peaceful expression the CSIs had seen when they entered. "I apologize for my conduct, detectives. But you will _not_ have the church's cooperation in this, and I ask that you do _not_ set foot on the premises again."

* * *

"I didn't know pastors could be so acidic," Stella muttered, once they left the church.

She and Mac had decided to take a walk, to let her blow off some steam. They would drop by a café for lunch later, perhaps. Mac purposely set a slow pace, so his partner's thoughts would be forced to calm down with her strides. It didn't mean he wasn't ticked off by their encounter with the less-than-helpful pastor, though. He agreed wholeheartedly with Stella's statements, but he kept it to himself lest he fuel his colleague's anger.

"He's hiding something. He has to be."

As much as he wanted to concur, Mac took it upon himself to be the voice of reason. "_Or_, he could just be protective of his… flock, he called them."

"If they're as innocent as he says, and as they _should_ be, he wouldn't be so defensive! God, what has the Christian world _come_ to?"

"Corruption is everywhere, Stella. You know that."

They continued walking, debating as they went, until Stella finally let out a long sigh.

"Feeling better?"

She nodded, smile returning. "Thanks."

A kiss on the cheek, and she counted it as a privilege that Mac was a close enough friend to allow it. They passed a bistro, less crowded than the other cafes they'd seen on the way; maybe it had something to do with the time – two-thirty in the afternoon, according to Stella's watch. They'd walked quite a long way… The stamina came with being a part of the force, regularly chasing down criminals, she supposed.

"Lunch?"

She nodded at her partner's invitation, and they turned in for a meal.

* * *

They sat at a booth by a large glass window looking out on the street, and started discussing their next plan of action over coffee, soup, and baguettes.

"Fletcher won't like to see us at his church again-"

"So we can't go back."

"We'd be risking a formal complaint. I don't want Internal Affairs on our backs. Especially not now."

Stella frowned. "But we can't give up on this lead. I don't know about you, but I'm all the more suspicious of that church now, and that pastor."

"Not to mention the cell group."

"Can't we get a warrant?"

"We have nothing on them; the DA won't grant it. And against a religious institution? I don't think so."

"What happened to Flack's friend at Subpoenas-'R'-Us?"

Mac smiled at the old joke. "Must've got the sack after he pulled too many favours."

…Flack, huh.

"Jokes aside, maybe we should swap cases with the others. Fletcher won't know they're cops. They can go undercover."

Undercover… Stella could feel an idea forming in her head. A _brilliant_ idea…

"Earth to Stella?"

Now, she knew their cases were to be taken seriously, but it was a _priceless_ chance, and it was actually _appropriate_ to this case… It would get them more access than otherwise, too –

"Stella. _Stella._"

She jumped at the sharp call. "Oh. Sorry, Mac."

He shook his head, amused. "What were you thinking?"

"I have an idea. It'll not only solve our problem, but it might put us in a _better_ position than _before_."

"Well then, let's hear it."

"But I _know_ you'll argue with me over it, so I wanna prepare my case, first."

A raised eyebrow, then a shrug. They both knew that even if Mac agreed with something, he would still debate against it, just to be sure it was worth it. He called for the bill, and paid before Stella could even pull her wallet from her handbag. She threw him a pointed look, to which he replied with a smile.

"Let's get going, shall we? You can think back at the labs."

She returned his smile. "Yeah. Thanks for the treat."

* * *

Back at the lab, they sat in Mac's office – him behind his desk, flipping through the case file again, her sitting opposite him, across the desk, deep in thought. _So many pros and cons… _So many things that might go wrong. She could only hope her case was strong enough; who knew how much protocol and how many ethics she was breaking – not to mention the danger involved… And that would just make Mac's side of the argument stronger.

Ah well, now or never. "Alright, I'm ready."

Mac looked up, silently expectant.

"We'll send Flack and Danny undercover to the church."

"That's it?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why does it feel like there's something behind that statement I'm not getting?"

"Dig deeper…"

Mac smiled at his own phrase being repeated back at him, but it morphed into a frown all too quickly, as he realized what she was implying.

He leant forward, resting his forearms on his desk. "_Stella._ You are _not_ allowed to use this _case_ as a _matchmaking_ opportunity."

Going by his tone of voice, anyone would've thought he was _strongly_ against the idea, but Stella could tell Mac was actually quite open to it. His oppositions usually sounded intimidating, even when he didn't mean them to be; thankfully, she had been around him long enough to be able to differentiate a half-hearted argument when she heard one. This battle was hers, already.

"Technically," – she got up, standing before his desk to make her point stronger – "we're just sending them as a pair of officers that are close enough to pass off as-"

"There are hundreds of pairs like that, if that's your only point."

"But they're _ours_, which means we get any information _first_. And of course there are the interdepartmental trust issues."

"Alright… And what about Danny and Flack? How do you know they'll take the job?"

She folded her arms, smirking. "They'll take it, because it's a _job_."

Mac paused, relaxed back into his chair, then, "…You know, Stella, there is a very _high_ possibility that they're staying as friends because they _want_ to."

"No, they remain that way because they don't _know_ any better."

"_Stella-_"

"_And_," she added quickly, unfolding her hands to place one on his desk, "they'll be able to get into the cell group."

"…" The smile crept back across Mac's lips. "I can't refute that."

_Yes!_ Stella's eyes lit up. Arguing with a half-hearted Mac was so much easier than-

"But. You're also putting them in the target group." He folded his arms.

"Well, that's another reason why _they_ are suitable for the job. They're the strongest – physically, at least – personnel we have. _And_ they have the mental strength as well."

A sigh, the close of the eyes as he thought. Stella relaxed back into her chair, waiting for the verdict. Then, the slight upward tilt in his lips. _I win!_

"And if they _do_ hook up?"

_Oh, Mac, you _know_ you want to see them hook up too._ "It'd just be a bonus."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Not that" – she grinned – "I doubt they will."

* * *

Notes:  
Subpoenas-'R'-Us reference from CSI:NY 118, The Dove Commission.  
"Dig deeper..." reference from an episode of CSI:NY I've forgotten... I'll list it here the moment I find it.


	3. Chapter 03: Missione

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Three: Missione (The Assignment)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"Morning, sunshine," Danny greeted as he walked into the lab.

"…Is that another one of your country girl jokes, Messer?"

"Morning, Lindsay," he corrected, déjà vu striking him for a moment.

"Better."

"Haven't seen you around for some time-"

"Before you say anything, Mac gave me the week off. Said he'd call me if the pace picked up again."

"Lucky girl," Danny teased.

"No, actually. Had the most boring week of my life. But! I'm back now; maybe a bit of a feminine touch'll help break that case of yours. Been stuck long on it?"

Danny tried to appear as grudging as possible in his admittance. "Not _long_, exactly."

"Right."

By this time they'd taken the familiar routes to their usual places at the lab benches, and they placed their boxes of archived evidence before them. There'd been a suspicious pattern relating the cold case Danny and Sheldon had been working on with another file, which brought another pile of evidence, and, hopefully, a new set of leads. With Sheldon out doing a bit of field work, the Montana girl was much-needed help. Maybe they _would_ break the case with her input. Danny covered the details and the investigation so far, and they were about to settle in for a day of reprocessing the archives when Stella appeared at the door.

"Oh, Lindsay, you're here. Wonderful. You can take Danny's place in the cold case investigation."

Her two juniors looked up, confused. "Why?"

"Mac and I need him on our case."

"What, signor and signora can't handle a double homicide?"

"Knock it off, Danny."

"Alright, alright… What do you need me for, anyway?"

Stella smiled, a little too sweetly for its meaning to be anything good. "You'll see. Now, come on, Mac wants us at his office."

"You sure he doesn't just want _you_ at his office?"

"Toeing the line, Messer… Watch it." But she was still smiling, and there was the faintest hint of pink on her cheeks.

"Si, signora- _ow!_"

Lindsay laughed quietly to herself from the bench as her colleagues left. Despite the sudden load on her first day, it was good to be back to work.

* * *

When Stella and Danny reached Mac's office, both the man and Don were already there, waiting, the one sitting behind his desk and the other in a chair facing it, like Mac and Stella had been the evening before. The other two CSIs entered, and after greetings, Stella ushered her colleague into the remaining chair beside Don and standing between them, arms folded.

"Alright, boys," she began, finally, "Mac has an assignment for you."

"It was _your_ idea, Stella."

"_Your_ personnel."

Mac sighed. "Alright, we need you two to go on an undercover mission."

Don raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You called me down from the precinct-"

"And pulled me from my case-"

"For an incognito?"

"Not just any incognito…" Mac hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter.

Stella sighed, amused, and took over to spare her friend the mortification. "We need you two to go undercover." Nods from the two men. "For our case." Nods again.

Don looked slightly confused, but Danny glanced over. _I'll explain that later._

"As a couple."

Silence. First was shock, and then –

"Wait, wha-" Pause. Realisation. Don blinked, incredulous.

"_Hell, no!_" Danny got up from his seat and whirled around to face Stella, a disbelieving grin on his face. "You're joking, right?"

An I-told-you-so look from Mac.

"Sadly, _no, _I'm not joking."

"Yeah, and Sid's actually perfectly normal."

Danny folded his arms, almost like a stubborn child. His grin had been replaced by a frown and Don didn't look too pleased, either.

"Look, you two are the best candidates – if not the _only_ candidates – for this case, considering that the only people we want to send are people that we trust."

"Well, why not you and Mac?"

Mac pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to ward off the headache he could just _feel_ coming. "We need two guys."

Don's jaw dropped. "_Why?_"

"Our murderer goes for gay couples."

"He went for _one_ gay couple, Stella," Danny countered. "_Mac_ says it all the time; once isn't enough to establish a pattern, let alone a killer's MO."

"It's the only lead we have."

"…I don't think you should send us."

The discomfort was clear in Don's voice as he kept his eyes trained on Danny's back, watching for a reaction. Stella caught him, though he didn't even realize he was doing it subconsciously. She smirked. _Ah, but you _do_ think so, Donnie…_

"At least give us a reason, so we can live with ourselves. _If_ we take the job."

"Doesn't sound like we have a choice," Don muttered.

Danny sighed and turned. He mouthed a few words. _Against her? No we don't._

Don snorted.

"There, you see? You're practically telepathic! You'll pass off for the role easily, _and _you're already close enough to live together without any problems."

"Oh, so we have to _live together_, now? This just keeps getting better."

"Yes," Mac cut in, "it does. And when the situation calls for it-"

"Which it will," Stella interjected.

"Which it will," her partner acceded, "you will have to act the part, too."

Don glanced at Stella. "And what does that entail, exactly?"

Her eyes lit up. "For one? Be comfortable in each others' space – but then again, you already are. Did you know, that you're already invading each other's personal sp-"

"Stella, you're starting to sound like Sid."

"…And then you have to hold hands, and-"

Danny rolled his eyes. "And what, make puppy eyes at each other and say 'I love you' every other minute?"

"Well, yes, pretty much. Glad you get the idea."

Danny sunk back into the chair he'd been using earlier. Stella's grin only got wider as he and Don shared despairing glances.

"And just how _long_ is this assignment going to be?"

"Indef-"

"Three months, tops." Mac shot Stella a pointed look.

"…And it's _imperative_ we do this, or you won't get your killer?"

"Close enough."

"…We don't actually have a choice, do we?"

"Actually, y-"

"No, you don't."

Don and Danny glanced between Stella and Mac, who seemed quite out-of-sync compared to their usual behavior. What with their answers overlapping each others', the two guys didn't really know who to listen. The pair was had a silent conversation across the desk, and then Mac sunk into the back of his chair, conceding the argument to his partner.

All the worst answers.

"So, we don't have a choice…"

"And we have to stay on the case until we get the guy?"

Of course, they both knew they could pull out at any moment they wanted, because Mac – despite his outward appearance and attitude – cared a lot for his colleagues, and even Stella wouldn't _force_ them into a mission they didn't want to take. But if it would solve the case… Another glance between the two soon-to-be undercover agents.

"Flack, I love you, man." Danny managed a semblance of a grin after his words, but it was more of a grimace.

Don cringed. "Never, _ever_, say that again, Messer."

Mac offered them a sympathetic smile, then proceeded with the briefing. He spread the various pages and photographs of the case report across his desk, and they covered everything from the layout of the crime scene to his and Stella's less-than-pleasant meeting with Pastor Wilfred Fletcher. Some of the information was redundant to Danny, but he waited patiently so his partner would get all the details he was missing – which was pretty much everything, seeing as Don hadn't been assigned to this case. Up till now, that is.

Finally, Stella pointed to the last two envelopes they'd not opened. "Profiles," she said, "yours."

"And the keys to your rental apartment." Mac handed two copies over, one to Don and one to Danny. "The labs will keep a copy, just in case."

Resigned, they accepted the items. Upon opening the envelopes, they found a brief personal history of their personas, as well as fake IDs.

"Dominick Flynn. How many favors did you have to pull to get these, huh, Mac?"

"A few."

"A few." Danny echoed, looking at his ID. "Deyon Marx."

"Alright? No fierce objections?"

"Actually-"

"Now, why don't you two lovebirds go and check out your new house?"

The pair groaned at Stella's teasing.

"Is it at least furnished?"

"Yeah, you just have to get your personals and clothes there."

"Joy," Don muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Well then, let's move it, _Dominick_." Danny wrinkled his nose in disdain. "Ugh. I am _so_ going to enjoy this…"

"Like I'll hate it any less?"

"I'm sorry it had to be you," Mac offered, but it was ruined by the upward tilt in his lips.

The pair nodded resignedly.

"Have fun!"

* * *

Out in the hallway, it was suddenly awkward for them to walk side-by-side, or to chat, and they gave each other a wider berth than usual. As they passed the trace labs, they met Lindsay just from her bench, heading in the opposite direction, toward Mac's office.

"Oh, hey guys. Is something wrong?"

"N-no. Don't poke your nose in other people's business, Montana. Or didn't they teach you that outback?"

"No, they didn't," she retorted. "Did you two get into an argument, or something?"

"Not with each other, no," Don muttered. "Look, Messer, why don't you get your affairs" – he tilted his head toward Lindsay – "in order, first, and I'll meet you tomorrow at the… _apartment._"

It left a bad taste in both their mouths.

"What, only a day's grace before we have to start on the assignment from hell?"

"_To_ hell, more like. Remember, I don't like this anymore than you do."

Danny sighed. "Yeah, alright. See you."

Don nodded to the two CSIs, then sidestepped them and headed for the exit of the winding glass corridors that made up the CSI building. Behind him, Lindsay tried to coax a little more information from her colleague.

"Assignment from hell?"

"You don't want to know, Montana. Really."

"I'll just ask Mac and-or Stella. I was just going to check in with them, anyway."

Danny didn't bite, only winced. "Enjoy yourself. _I _gotta get going."

"…Alright, then. See you-"

She didn't have the time to finish her sentence before he nodded, and then retreated to the locker rooms. _What on earth-?_

* * *

"Hey, Stella?"

"Yeah?"

Stella had joined Lindsay at the trace lab to pick up some of the slack that Danny had left behind, now that he'd been transferred to her case. She was running a distillation, while her junior was attempting a bit of DNA extraction. Sheldon was just back from the field, too, and was analyzing some security videos from the archives.

"Danny and Flack were acting kinda weird earlier… Said something about an assignment from hell?"

"Oh, that." Stella grinned. "No one's told you about the case Mac and I are working on yet?"

"Nope."

Stella gave a quick overview of her case. "So, we're sending Danny and Flack undercover."

"Oh, this sounds interesting." Sheldon padded over, curious.

The two girls raised their eyebrows at him.

"What, I couldn't help overhearing."

"Sheldon Hawkes, I – _we_ – demand that you stop spending so much of your time with Sid Hammerback."

"Yeah, you're turning _into_ him, Hawkes."

Grins all around, then Lindsay continued. "But what about an undercover mission? It doesn't sound too bad."

"Oh. This is for the crucifixion case, isn't it, Stella."

"Yeah. Care to fill in the blanks for me?"

"Well. Correct me if I'm wrong, but" – he paused for effect, like he used to in the autopsy lab – "you're sending them in as a couple."

"No need for correction." Stella beamed at her junior.

Lindsay gaped. "You have _got_ to be- Wow."

A rap on the glass wall facing the corridor. It was Sid, just from Mac's office. In fact, Mac was standing behind him, arms folded and amused smile on his face.

"I believe fraternizing should be done _outside_ the lab?"

"Oh, come on, Mac. This is a _big_ thing, not just fraternizing."

Sid chuckled. "What evils have you concocted now, Ms Bonasera?"

"We're sending Danny and Flack undercover for our case," Stella announced, gleefully.

"Your case… That would be the crucifixion case…" A pause. "Oh. That's _brilliant_, Stella."

"I know, right?"

Mac shook his head. "Is that _all_ this is about? Stella, you _promised_ it was a secondary objective."

Sid glanced between the two head CSIs. "I believe… Even if it's a secondary objective, we're still allowed to have a betting pool on it?"

Three pairs of eyes lit up, and Mac shook his head resignedly. "I had no part in this."

Lindsay stopped him on the way to the door. "On the contrary, _you_ authorized this mission. Therefore, you actually have the second-largest part in this."

"Largest going to Ms Bonasera, of course," Sid added.

"Alright, rephrase: I had no part in this betting pool of yours."

Stella rolled her eyes. "I'll just bet enough for the both of us, then."

Mac paled. "Stella…"

Sheldon snickered. "Why not just bet, Mac? You know you want to."

Sighing, Mac returned to the bench they were crowding around, Lindsay following suit.

"_After_ I hear your bets, first."

"I give them a month, and a hundred dollars," Stella declared.

"I don't know; they looked _really_ against it…" Lindsay frowned slightly, thinking, then, "I say two months."

Sheldon nodded. "Two sounds reasonable. I'm in on that."

Sid shook his head. "Amateurs, all of you." He flashed a grin. "I say, they won't get together until _after_ the assignment is well over, and even then, only with a lot of hassle."

Incredulous looks.

"They're _guys._ Not to mention, _stubborn_ guys. Worse, one's a cop and one's Italian!"

"He's not _really_ Italian…"

"Your point being?"

"Fine!" Lindsay couldn't help the laugh. "But I won't take it; too much drama."

Nods from Stella and Sheldon.

"Suit yourself. But remember, I've _never_ lost a bet. Three hundred."

Everyone paled slightly, except Mac. "Alright, I'm in for Sid's prediction…" He smirked. "Five hundred."

The incredulous looks returned, now directed at the supervisor of the CSI division. He shrugged.

"Okay, now we bet on who'll top…"

"Oh, that's no fun. Everyone knows the answer already, anyway."

"Point taken…"

"Alright, alright, break it up. We have cases to work on, remember?"

* * *

Notes:  
Opening scene reference from CSI:NY 101, Blink.


	4. Chapter 04: Abituarsi

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Four: Abituarsi (Settling In)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"You're here early. You sure you don't actually _want_ to do this?"

"Just because I don't want to do it, doesn't mean I won't. That would be unprofessional."

"Right." Don rolled his eyes. "Need help?"

"Nah, this is it."

Danny stepped around his partner, box of belongings in his arms before him and duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Just this?"

"Yeah. What am I, a girl?"

Don snickered. "I know _I'm_ not gonna be the girl."

"Shut up, Flack."

* * *

Danny waited until he'd put his things away before he took a good look around the apartment. He had to admit – he was impressed. As expected of any collaboration between Mac and Stella, it was both stylish _and_ practical – simple, minimalist furniture filled the space without the frills that nearly everyone at the lab disliked. Though it wasn't a very big apartment, the walls were painted with a nice, neutral cream that was easy on the eyes and seemed to expand the place. And, probably courtesy of Stella, there were some tasteful abstract canvases on the walls. Danny, who liked at least a little wood around him, was also glad to find that – though the living room and kitchen were metal-glass-marble affairs that suited Don's tastes more than his – the bedroom was more earthy, with closet, bedside table, and closet, all of wood.

"Wonder how much they spent on all this…"

"Nothing, considering the kind of connections Mac has. Also, considering the kind of things the NYPD confiscates on a regular basis."

"Confiscates? This kind of stuff? That's called robbery, Flack."

"All in the name of justice," the taller man retorted. "There _is _one problem, though."

"…Aside from the whole situation itself?"

"Yeah." Don nodded toward the bedroom.

Danny raised an eyebrow, but obligingly headed to the room. _Oh. Well. Damn._ He paled. Don came up behind him, leaning against the doorframe.

"There's only one bed. You have _got_ to be kidding…"

Danny groaned. How had that _missed_ him the first time? Were they supposed to _share _the- He didn't even want to let his thoughts go there, but they did anyway, and he blanched. _And_ he could still feel Don smirking behind him, laughing at his stupefied reaction.

"Y'know, Flack, I'm beginning to think you're on Stella's side in this."

"No, I'm not. And you make it sound like she's plotting something on purpose."

"I _know_ she is. I just can't figure out what. Do you have a girlfriend she doesn't like, or something?"

Don shook his head, chuckling. "No, Messer. Now, what're we gonna do about the bed?"

"You got dibs, I guess. I'll take the sofa."

"You're playing the guilt card, aren't you, Messer?"

"No, I'm not." But his smile gave him away.

"Sneaky bastard."

"No," – the smile widened – "I'll _really_ take the sofa-"

The doorbell rang before Danny had the chance to complete his sentence. The pair decided to shelve the not-really-argument until later, and went to answer the door.

"Ten that it's Stella and Mac, come to rub it in our faces."

"Doubt it."

"Well then, who-" Danny opened the door.

"Hey." It was Lindsay and Sheldon, grinning smugly on his doorstep – well, technically it was his _and Don's_ doorstep, but –

"M-Montana. What're you doing here?"

Lindsay grinned. "Oh, we just came by to wish you luck."

Don appeared behind Danny. "...Monroe... Hawkes..."

"Well, aren't you going to invite us in?"

"..."

"Pay up, Danny boy."

"I didn't think you'd actually make me…"

Danny handed a ten-dollar note to a smirking Don, and they both stood aside to clear the doorway for their friends. They headed for the living room, which was actually quite comfortable – a two-seater sofa and two armchairs surrounded a low glass table – like Danny had observed earlier, trendy yet functional. Lindsay headed for the kitchen – also equipped with a complete set of appliances – and started the coffee machine while the guys sat down.

"The next time you have visitors, Danny, _you_ make the coffee. Or don't they teach basic manners in the city anymore?"

"It's Deyon, now," he called back, wrinkling his nose. "And coffee is the woman's job!"

Lindsay emerged from the kitchen, carrying the tray of beverages. "For this job? I don't think Don fits the bill very well."

Danny was caught between surprise, offense, and mortification – mostly mortification. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let the chuckling Don do the talking.

"You really _did_ ask Stella, huh."

"Yep."

Both men cringed.

"It _is _for a good cause," Sheldon offered.

"I would still _appreciate_ it if Montana stopped insulting my manhood."

Lindsay snickered. "Oh, you don't even know the half of it."

Danny and Don blinked simultaneously, then, "Half of what?"

"Oh, nothing, really." Sheldon smiled, a little too smug for the guys' comfort.

The pair spent a while trying to goad the answer from their colleagues, but to no avail. After that, they switched to normal workplace banter, Lindsay happily announcing that they'd solved the cold case that Danny had been working on with Sheldon, and it almost seemed like there _wasn't_ an assignment, until:

"Oh, hey, so why don't you show us around?"

"This isn't a housewarming party, Montana."

"You two still _are_ the proud owners of a new apartment."

"One, I doubt this apartment is actually _new_. Two, there's nothing _to _show. And three, we are _not _proud of this. This."

"Situation," Danny finished.

Lindsay and Sheldon glanced triumphantly at each other, their colleagues giving up on trying to interpret the looks. With a muttered assent, they walked them around the three-room apartment, anticipating – dreading – the reaction they would get when they got to the bedroom –

"One bed," Sheldon observed, chuckling.

"Shut it, Hawkes."

"Yeah, instead of laughing, why don't you help us decide who gets the bed?"

"How about both," Lindsay retorted.

Prompt death glares from the partners.

"W-ell," she added hastily, "we have to go now. Don't we, Hawkes?"

An amused nod from the pathologist-turned-CSI, and they disappeared toward the door.

"Enjoy yourselves, boys!"

The sound of the door closing sharply, and possibly the sound of laughter down the corridor. Definitely.

* * *

They ended up playing rock-paper-scissors for the bed; Don won with a rock to Danny's scissors, so after dinner that night – takeout from a Chinese place near the labs, to restore _some_ sense of normalcy to the day – Danny sprawled himself across the two-seater after Don disappeared into the single bedroom for the night.

* * *

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Danny and Don found out, rather unceremoniously, that they'd effectively been banned from both the precinct and the labs for the duration of their assignment. They'd meant to drop Don off first, but the moment he stepped even _close_ to the office doors –

"Excuse me, sirs? No unauthorized personnel in the back." The voice was grinning – as much as a voice _could_ grin.

Don turned to find one of his uniforms, and promptly wiped his subordinate's smug expression off with a glower.

Sensing a scuffle, Danny hastily steered his partner towards the door. "Move it, Fl-ynn. You can pay'im back next time."

A last glare, then Don allowed himself to be dragged out the precinct door.

Outside, through the seething, they automatically reoriented themselves for the route to the CSI building not too far off.

"I see your point about Stella."

"What, about her being a complete angel?" Danny snorted. "Looks like you'll be hanging at the labs for a while."

…And then they literally walked _into_ Mac at the doors to the CSI building; it looked like he'd pulled yet another overnight shift and was heading out to grab breakfast. He spared them a smile, but showed no signs of recognition otherwise. Don shook his head in resignation and stepped aside, but Danny refused to take the hint, opting to sidestep around his superior, who promptly shifted to cut him off.

"I'm sorry, but this building is out-of-bounds to the general public."

"God, Mac, not here _too-_"

The head CSI's eyes managed to convey that he _was_ genuinely sorry, but it didn't soothe Danny in the least. He'd just been denied access from the building that he'd considered his third home – first being his apartment, second being Don's – and. He couldn't suppress his "intelligent" side's indignation at having been banned from the labs, either.

"But-"

"Security reasons. Please try to understand."

Mac had to pick his words carefully; to the outsider, it had to look like Danny and Don were simply members of the public who wanted in. Maybe the family or friends of a murder victim. But, at the same time, he had to get the message across to his colleagues – removing contact between them for a necessary safety precaution. In fact, hadn't he already arranged for temporary jobs for them…?

"The investigation should be done by next Monday, you can come for the body then. In the meantime, I suggest you double-check the release documents; we don't want any problems in the future."

"…" It took all of a split second for Danny to translate the instructions. "Alright, fine."

He was too miffed to thank his friend, but Mac didn't seem to mind. They split up, the elder presumably to some café or other, and Danny back to Don who'd stood aside earlier to give him room. The pair headed aimlessly down the road; the first newsstand they passed, Don grabbed the morning paper, and then they returned to their apartment.

* * *

"Release documents," Danny muttered, rolling his eyes.

He pulled the envelope he'd received two days before from his duffel bag – he'd decided to leave it in while unpacking, figuring he wouldn't need it, which, unfortunately, had turned out to be a wrong assumption – and slapped it onto the coffee table. Don's was already on the table as well, and he'd exchanged his morning paper for the papers inside.

"Looks like we missed out a few details, Messer."

He flipped his papers over, pointed at the entry just below the biography section. Danny promptly glanced at the same area on his own documents.

"…I thought these were just for show."

"Apparently, not."

Also, apparently, Deyon Marx – according to the profile – had the rather… unique… job of ice sculptor. How Mac had found out Danny actually _could_ sculpt ice – it was one of his hobbies, _when_ he had the ice (rarely) _and _the time (not surprisingly, even more rarely) – was a mystery to him, but his boss had always simply _known_ things, so he didn't dwell too much on it. A more than tolerable cover job. Opposite him, Don groaned.

"Count yourself lucky, Messer. I got permanent desk duty."

"Ouch." But Danny was still smirking as he leant back into the sofa.

"Trade your chainsaws?" Don's expression was almost pleading – but then again, it was common knowledge that he hated paperwork.

His partner shook his head smugly. "Not on your life."

A near-pout, about as close as Don Flack Jr. would ever allow himself. "I didn't even know you were the artsy type."

"Yeah, well, I am." Danny was more than a little indignant. "Just don't show it much. Not like _you're_ any better."

"Alright, alright, I'll leave the artsy stuff to the girl and go to work like a good boyfriend-"

A light punch to his shoulder, grin returning. "All the more not to give you my chainsaws, Flack. I'm gonna need them to saw off your _head_."

* * *

Despite the wasted morning, the rest of the day was tolerably productive; the guys spent the afternoon familiarizing themselves with the new neighborhood, from the alleys around their apartment all the way up to the church compound. Not that they didn't already know their way around – crime scenes had dragged them to this part of town quite a few times before – but they would have to be particularly familiar to pass off as people who actually _lived_ here.

By the time they were done – both with scouting the area and with uploading as much information to their brains as possible – it was nearly sundown. They stopped by a supermarket for groceries ( "What, no more takeout? That's just too bad." "Shut up, M-arx." "Can you even cook?" "_You're_ cooking tonight." "Wait, what? Why?" ), then headed home.

Home, being, of course, the godforsaken yet rather cozy apartment. They had to make the effort not to head back to their own apartments like their in-built autopilots would've made them, but it had been an overall painless recon.

* * *

That night, Don found out that – despite all his complaints about the lack of takeout – Danny was actually quite the genius in the kitchen. He supposed he should have realized when the man went straight for all the ingredients he'd never even _heard_ of, but, well, as hard as it was to believe Danny Messer had an artistic side, believing he could cook was hard_er_. All the same, he figured he _could_ get _used_ to this having Italian for dinner.

"…Don't even think about it."

"About what?" And Don innocently shoveled another spoonful of the cream cheese ravioli into his mouth.

"That's it," – Danny folded his arms – "you're doing dishes today, _and _cooking tomorrow."

"Dishes, fine. But I can't cook. I swear you'll be begging to cook after."`

"I'll take that chance."

* * *

The next day saw Deyon Marx and Dominick Flynn reporting a day late for work; Don found himself promptly drowned in an account folder that made him wish for case paperwork at the precinct, and Danny found himself happily carving away at his first commission. Both were exhausted when they returned to their shared apartment –

"Bloody hell. Just because I took an accountancy course doesn't mean I like that shit." Don collapsed into a sprawl across the sofa in the living room, tie and coat abandoned on the coffee table.

"Somebody's pissed," Danny commented, as he headed straight for the shower, black sleeveless top already half-off.

"You would be too, trust me. And," – he sat up – "who said you get to shower first?"

The reply was slightly muffled by the now-closed toilet door. "_You_, have to cook. Anyway, I've been workin' a chainsaw for the whole day!"

"In an air-conditioned room. You were carving _ice._"

"And _you_ were sitting at a desk."

A resigned sigh, and Don got up, padded into the kitchen.

* * *

"…Flack, I smell _smoke_."

Don winced. His partner was standing behind him, fresh out of the shower, towel still slung over his shoulders, in a loose T-shirt and slacks, leaning against the counter. When he turned, he saw the half-amused frown on the man's face, along with the disapproving wrinkle in his nose.

"I warned you, didn't I?" There was the slightest hint of a whine in his voice.

"You know, most people _learn_ to cook when they live alone."

"And I gave up _learning_ a long time ago, Mess."

"I can tell." Danny pushed off the counter to stand beside Don at the stove, glanced at the contents of the smoking pot on it. "God, Flack, didn't you mother ever _teach_ you? Even the simple stuff?"

"Don Flack Sr. didn't want his son learning sissy shit like cooking."

The other flinched at the venom in his voice. "Alright, alright, take it easy. I'll cook, you do the dishes."

Don sighed and nodded, then plodded out of the kitchen. "…Thanks, Mess."

Danny absently nodded in acknowledgement – both of the thanks and the unspoken apology – as he poured the overcooked stew down the sink. Then, he checked through the refrigerator, picking out dory fillets and a lemon, along with some herbs. One of the quicker recipes under his belt, he would pan-fry the fish in lemon sauce, and it would be done by the time his partner was out of the shower.

Which it was, and Don was dumbfounded by his friend's cooking yet again.

"You cook like this, and your favorite wine is beer."

"Well, yeah."

"You're messed up, Messer."

"Six-point-five, Flack. Your landing was a little shaky."

Don rolled his eyes at the quote. "You got jeweled roaches in here?"

"Sadly, no. Montana ate them all."

They snickered at the memories their conversation brought up, and continued the back-and-forth across dinner. Eventually, Don cleared the table, and they finished up with beer and television, like the night before.

"Oh, hey. Do you want the bed?"

Danny raised an eyebrow.

"Figured we could share."

"Share." A pointed look.

Both men blanched. "Not like that, Messer. God. I meant you and me can alternate between the bed and the sofa."

"Ah. Bed's mine tonight, then."

Don shrugged, nodded.

"Great." A grin from Danny, and he disappeared into the bedroom.

* * *

Notes:  
"I didn't think you'd actually make me [pay]" reference to CSI:NY 112, Recycling.  
"Six-point-five, Flack. Your landing was a little shaky" reference to CSI:NY 319, A Daze Of Wine And Roaches.  
Jeweled roaches reference to CSI:NY 319, A Daze Of Wine And Roaches.  
"Montana ate them all." reference to CSI:NY 215, Fare Game.  
Danny being a good cook reference to CSI:NY 416, Right Next Door.


	5. Chapter 05: Religione

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Five: Religione (Sunday)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

By the end of the week, Don and Danny had accustomed themselves as best as they could to their new situation. They would head out together in the mornings, swiping breakfast and coffee with varying degrees of caffeine on the way, then split up for work. Come evening, the hours of the ice-sculpting industry were shorter – though irregular – so Danny, who _had_ turned out to be the more domestic of the pair, ended up doing most of the grocery shopping and cooking. Don, on the other hand, was surprisingly good at accounts despite his dislike for them; he ended up with a few extra stacks that took maybe an hour or two more. By the time he reached home, dinner was ready and waiting for him to be done with his shower and come to the table. It had settled in nicely – naturally, even – once they'd stopped _trying_ to make it work; in the end, as Stella had said, their friendship was already tight enough for them to live almost seamlessly around each other.

* * *

Sunday, however, was a different matter.

Danny _had_ been looking forward to sleeping in – considering service started an hour-and-a-half later than work – but found himself rather rudely awakened, a long-sleeved cuff shirt and dress pants smothering him none-too-gently. He lazily clawed the clothes off his face, only to be met by his partner – already dressed – standing over him behind the sofa, arms folded and face smug.

"I thought you weren't a _morning_ person, Flack."

"It's church, y'moron. Fellowship starts with breakfast. We're already late."

Danny groaned and – forgetting he was on a sofa – rolled over, landing himself on the floor. He couldn't be bothered to pick himself up. "Fellowship isn't in the job description-"

"If you want Boy Scout points, Messer, you go to church early for recon."

"Alright, I'm up, I'm up." He scooped up the clothes left on the sofa and clambered to his feet. "But does it have to be so… Formal?"

A nod, and Danny resigned himself to the dress code.

* * *

Don barely waited for Danny to be done changing before dragging his friend out the front door, thrusting the man's sling-bag at him along the way down the corridor.

"Packed your bag for you, Deyon, aren't you gonna thank me?"

"Thank you, Dominick, you're such a sweet girlfriend," Danny simpered.

"…Forget I said anything."

"And _that_, is what you get for waking me up an hour too early."

"Well, forgive me for disturbing your beauty sleep, Messer."

Danny shot his friend a warning look. "Watch it, _Dominick_. You'll get us _both_ screwed if the killer realizes who we are."

An apologetic glance from Don, and that was that. Danny knew his partner _wouldn't_ let himself be careless. They increased their pace toward the church.

* * *

"Good morning, gentlemen. Are you new here? I don't recall seeing you around."

"Yes, actually. Dominick Flynn and Deyon Marx."

"…Pleasure." He shook their hands. "I'm the head pastor, Wilfred Fletcher."

There had only been a short moment of hesitation after Don introduced both Danny and himself, but it was enough to bring Mac and Stella's suspicions to mind. Day one proper into their job, and they already had a prime suspect, whom their colleagues had pinned the week before. It was too bad they could only get a warrant with concrete proof, or they wouldn't have to be on this ridiculous mission in the first place.

A family walked by, and the father tapped Fletcher on the shoulder. A sturdily-built man, black-hair-black-eyes, in a brown polo-tee and dark blue jeans ("I thought you said _formal_." "Well, yes." "_I'm_ picking my clothes next week." "Then wake up on time, Marx."); he looked Don and Danny over with poorly-hidden disdain, then murmured something in the pastor's ear before standing to the side to wait while his family continued to the breakfast tables.

"Well," Fletcher tried to cover for the man's hostility, "make yourselves at home. I need to…"

"Get on with the meet-and-greet, we get it." The sarcasm in Danny's voice seemed to surprise the pastor, and he flinched at the slip-up.

An awkward smile. "Well… yes, you could put it that way."

"I'm sorry, Deyon can be a little snappy at times."

"Feisty personality?" The man in the polo-tee somehow managed to make it sound like an insult, and it took most of Danny's willpower to keep from punching in his face.

"Close enough," he ground out.

Don cut in to keep his partner from getting any more incensed. "I didn't catch your name-"

"Frank Herring," the man returned smoothly, but it had a little more bite than could be passed off as a speaking habit.

"We'll see you in the sanctuary later."

Don nodded to the pastor, watched as he hurried Herring to his family's table, then accompanied a still seething Danny to a table on the opposite side of the room. A blond man with green eyes turned to greet them as they neared. Despite being obviously at least in his late-twenties, his expression had something open about it that made him seem younger than he actually was; not to mention his trendy clothes of a light three-quarter-sleeved white shirt and khaki dress pants.

"Hey. I see you met Frank. Don't mind him."

"No, not at all." Don's reply was sarcastic, but he nodded amicably to the man to take the edge off it.

Danny preferred a _slightly_ more caustic approach. "Is he like that often?"

"Unfortunately, yes." A passing frown, then his face brightened again. "The name's Timothy, by the way."

Don's cop instinct to get the full name of all witnesses kicked in. "Timothy…?"

"McLean. But just call me Timothy. Everyone does."

"Timothy," Danny echoed, "Deyon Marx."

McLean stood up to shake hands, and then extended his hand to Don.

"Dominick Flynn," came the repeated introduction, and they shook hands as well.

Just as they were sitting down at the table, another man – in a black button-up and camouflage cargoes came up – back from the washroom – and placed himself beside McLean. Brown-haired with blue eyes, surprisingly expressive for the taut build, as he looked inquisitively at the two detectives.

McLean grinned. "Ran, this is Dominick and Deyon. They're new here."

"Randal Hays," the man greeted, voice deep in contrast to his friend's lighter tone.

They shook hands. An awkward pause followed, as the two men shared a glance, then McLean slipped his hand into Hays'. Danny and Don pretended not to see, as they would have at work or at any other time, but McLean followed up with a hasty explanation, more than a little abashed.

"Figured you could learn by example, y'know?"

"Uh, _example_?"

"Yeah." Hays squeezed McLean's hand gently. "This church is different than others." _We're accepted here._

For a split second, both detectives had refutes on their tongues, before they remembered their assignment. Still, the hesitation registered all too clearly on their faces, along with the embarrassment and panic. Said panic was almost immediately mirrored by the blond of their new acquaintances.

"L-look, we didn't mean… I mean, if you're not…" McLean fell silent.

"What Tim is saying, is we didn't mean to offend you."

A quick conference, silent and practically telepathic, in the language of _looking_ that they'd learnt over the years interrogating suspects.

"No offense taken, y'know?" And _Deyon_ scooted a little closer to _Dominick_.

"We were just caught off guard. We," Dominick pressed his partner's arm, "don't come from the most accepting place…"

McLean seemed to have recovered. "There, I knew there was something about you two. Welcome to the church where there's no need to hide!"

"Yeah."

And as the four headed up to the sanctuary for service, Danny and Don began to recover themselves as well. If this had been any other day – basketball, perhaps, on a Saturday morning, or a day at the lab, or in the field, hell, even in the middle of the night chasing a suspect in the weirdest of places – it would've been perfectly normal for them to walk so close to each other their shoulders would brush. Perfectly natural for them to be so easily in pace with each other. Arms slung over shoulders, sometimes even their whole bodies tangled over a suspect struggling to get free. But the moment they'd put it into context – it was like the afternoon they'd first gotten the job, awkwardly wishing they could keep an arms' length from each other, only they couldn't afford to let the discomfort show _now_, because they had an act to keep up.

They'd actually run through it during the week – how it might turn out, what to do if something – anything – happened. They were both detectives. They both knew the risks, they both knew they had to be professional about this, take it seriously. Undercover training had been mandatory in the Police Academy; they'd both been there and done that. And they knew how to dissolve their "self"s into the assumed personalities they were assigned. They'd taken the week to practice, slipping in and out of Danny-and-Don and Deyon-and-Dominick. It wasn't supposed to be _hard_. Difficult, maybe, but not like the stone wall that they'd suddenly found themselves pushing against, this bond of _brotherhood_ that was suddenly required to become something it wasn't, that retained its form even after the detectives had become the ice sculptor and the businessman.

* * *

Still, for now, it was Deyon and Dominick, sitting in the pews, listening to pastor Fletcher talk about things Danny and Don respected but couldn't believe in. And it was Deyon and Dominick standing awkwardly close, shy and unused to the church's open culture, while the detectives tried to keep their mortification. It wasn't like they had tolerance problems; they just weren't gay themselves, and –

"So, Dom, Dey. We have a cell group going on Wednesday nights. Wanna come? This week's at our place."

Again the chatty McLean, while Hays stood protectively a half-step behind him, unconsciously brooding. But he was a good guy. McLean scribbled a little something on a scrap of paper, and passed it to Danny.

"That's our address, and numbers. Drop by, yeah?"

It would've been hard to refuse, even if they hadn't _needed_ the access to the group. "Sure."

* * *

Danny and Don remained after McLean and Hays left, and they played the friendly newcomers, asking around, as close to interrogating the admin staff, and whoever else they could find, as they dared. The _warmth_ the people in the church reminded the detectives of the time they still believed in religion – Danny had been Catholic and Don Protestant. But their jobs had taken too much away from them; in fact, maybe the distancing had started when they were children, somewhere between the Tanglewood Boys and Don Flack Sr.

As for now, they found themselves back in a church mentally cataloging whatever scraps of information they could gather, _knowing_ it would point them to a murderer. Just knowing, by their detectives' instincts. Learning more about Howard and Gray, about Fletcher, about Herring. And there were moments they forgot about acting the part, and it was lucky their friendship _could_ pass off as –

* * *

Back at the apartment, the outside world had faded into a haze of sorts, the two detectives carefully reviewing the data they'd collected and recording it into a report on their issued laptop. Double-checking reactions and _interpretations_ of reactions with each other, doing their best to make sure nothing fell through the cracks. Their memories had been fine-tuned by work to pick up the smallest anomalies, the shortest hesitation, the split-second-too-fast of an overly-hasty answer. But if something _did_ get missed out – well, the killer might just get away. So this was important, this sitting before the laptop, absently picking at the takeout they'd bought on the way home while keying in transcripts they'd kept in their heads and searching for extra particulars online.

Thankfully, Don had been thoughtful enough to grab an extra six-pack of beer while Danny had been waiting in line at the takeout place, so they had ample alcohol to relax with after. It was a bad bachelor's habit – or at least, that's what Lindsay or Stella, or even Sheldon and Sid would say – this drinking so regularly. But the alcohol content of beer was so low, and they were on the mission to-from hell. The detectives figured they deserved it. Especially, today.

Because today Dominick had held Deyon's hand, and then gingerly rested his arm around his hips. And neither Danny nor Don could refute the fact that, in the end, it meant they had, too. Fortunately, or probably not, it hadn't been _that_ bad. They _had_ ended up in closer contact before, on the chase, tackling each other down to keep their suspects from suffering _severe _injuries that would've gotten _both_ their badges revoked. …And they would return to that _after_ this whole job was over.

In the meantime, they were sitting on the floor of their living room, leaning back against the sofa with the coffee table's glass top level with their chests. Lights off, television flickering, both men just pleasantly tipsy, enough to start all their usual nonsense from the cop bars or nights out with the rest of the lab.

"Remind me _why_ they didn't let us use audio bugs, again?"

"Unnecessary risk," Danny returned, mimicking his boss' voice as he clunked his beer can onto the table. "Remind _me_ who said _you_ could be the guy, Flack."

"Lindsay, if I remember correctly." Quiet snicker from the cop.

"Yeah, well, the next time your arm comes anywhere_ close_… You better watch it, Flack." But Danny was grinning.

An empty threat; Don scooted closer, dodged the lazy hand that tried to swat him away, and slung his arm across his friend's shoulders. "Oh yeah?"

"…I'll pay you back for _all_ of this when we're off the job."

Don laughed and pulled away before Danny even started to recoil – and of course they knew each other well enough to know he _hadn't_ been going to recoil. Instead, a quick half-glare settled the matter.

* * *

Monday. _The investigation should be done by Monday, you can come for the body then._ Unsurprisingly, Don and Danny were only all-too-glad for the return to normalcy; although, there _was_ just that little bit of natural hesitation that came with breaking newly-formed routines. Not to mention the rest of the labs would probably have a field day destroying whatever pride they had left.

Regardless, after their temporary jobs, they headed for the CSI building as if it were a normal night of murders and autopsies and chasing down criminals. Which it was, in a way – just not for Don or Danny. After greetings and shots of black caffeine with their colleagues – sadly, Sid had to attend to a new autopsy and couldn't stay in the meeting room – Don plugged the thumbdrive with their collected data – encrypted and with the original copy hidden deep in the bowels of their laptop back at the apartment – into the lab computer. Danny brought up the files one by one, and they gave a rough commentary of the write-ups in the documents.

"Wilfred Fletcher," Don started, as the first document was opened onscreen.

"Oh yeah, I remember him."

The slight narrowing in Mac's eyes was all they needed to see his assent to Stella's hissed comment.

"Easy, easy. He's not _too_ bad. A little homophobic, y'know, like the rest of us."

Raised eyebrows.

"Otherwise, he's clean," Don cut in, before his partner could offend any of their other colleagues.

An apologetic shrug of the shoulders. "Anyway, the guy we _should_ be worrying about, is this fella', right here."

Herring's particulars and photo – off the church site – replaced Fletcher's.

Sheldon frowned. "Is this our guy?"

Lindsay's eyebrows gathered in concentration. There _was_ something about this man, something hostile, "Yeah… You can see it in his _face_."

Silent agreement all around.

"Hawkes and Montana are _absolutely_ right. We just don't have proof yet. This is about as much as Google had on their engines."

"We'll leave that to Adam," Mac returned, sensing that his colleague was jumping to conclusions again, "_but_ before anything definitive turns up, this man is considered _innocent_."

Danny threw his arms up in exasperation, and Don shook his head resignedly. There was simply no arguing with the man's logic – it was usually closer to infallible than most people ever got.

Stella couldn't help but smile at their reactions. "Moving on, boys."

"We didn't dare ask about our John Does too much. There's probably nothing that we don't already know in there, but you can take a look later."

"There's also some general trivia from the admin staff, and Fletcher's off-the-record track-record."

"Very funny, Flack. Is that all?"

"No, actually. We got access to that cell group you were talking about. Meet's on Wednesday, at" – Danny pulled the scrap of paper from his wallet and handed it to his boss – "this place."

"Timothy McLean," Mac read off the name above the address, "do we have data on him as well?"

"Yeah. And on his boyfriend."

Don's statement somehow disconcerted the lab, and they realized that Danny's statement had been true. No matter; they were only sheltered, they didn't actually have anything _against_ homosexuality. They'd been through case after case that involved discrimination and the crimes that inevitably followed in its wake; they believed in equality above most, because they dealt in death. And in death, all were equal…

Thoughts that seemed to take longer than they did; they finished up the meeting, with Mac giving instructions and warnings – especially to the hot-headed undercover detectives. _Watch what you say and what you do, we don't want your cover blown. _Herring aside, that the murderer was in the cell group was only too likely, and they were after a smart – or at least, very careful – man. And if they were wrong, and they were looking for a woman, then they would have to start over from – _with_ – nothing. For now, it was up to Don and Danny to chase this lead all the way down.

* * *

And it was everyone else's job to, a) work the data in the labs to supply complementary information, and b) tease the two agents to the very edge of their sanities. Fortunately, they left it for after the report – of course, the two undercover agents would have much rathered they left off altogether, but they figured families were just like that.

"So, murderer and the danger to your lives aside, everything sounds pretty comfy to me."

"Comfy? Montana, are you out of your mind?"

"I _said_ murderer aside."

"You forgot 'insult to our sexual orientation aside'."

"But," Sheldon added, supporting Lindsay, "from what we're hearing of your everyday life-"

"That's what a normal married couple's life would sound like, right?"

Stella picked up. "Yeah, the husband goes out, works, comes home, has dinner..."

"Stop it right there, Stella. It's just for convenience' sake. God. Do I have 'girl' stamped on my forehead or somethin'?"

"And if we said yes?" Laughter all around at Danny's expense, and he mock-glared at all of them.

Eventually, Stella continued, "Look, we can't help it if it's priceless that you _cook_."

"And ice-sculpt."

"We've been through this, I have an artsy side, I'm a good cook and I'm a better catch than you'll ever get, Montana. So what?"

Lindsay raised an eyebrow. "So nothing…" A mischievous grin. "Unless you clean, too?"

"Hell as if I would! He" - Danny pointed at his partner - "cleans and does the dishes."

Don raised his arms in mock-surrender. "Like he said, convenience."

"Oh, so _now_ you agree with me."

"Easy, loverboys. It's nearly midnight. Why don't you head home, and go to bed." Pause. Guilty smile. "I'm sure it's been a tough day."

Danny rolled his eyes, though he couldn't keep from mirroring his friend's expression. "Y'think?"

Sheldon chuckled. "Speaking of beds, by the way…"

"We take turns between the bed and the couch." Hastily, Danny added, "But don't get any ideas."

"And, about that…" Don rounded on Stella.

"What, you think people would believe you were together if you took separate beds?"

"Why the hell not?"

Stella flashed a coy smile. "Well."

Of course, everyone knew they had to make things as believable as possible, even overly-believable, in the case of what they _could_ control, because inevitably there would be hitches here and there, and it would all even out. The three CSIs still working in the labs were about to change the topic when Mac appeared, just back from the pathologist's lab, with Sid in tow.

"Don, Danny," he greeted amiably, "hope you're getting on well?"

Sid, the pair decided almost immediately, was the most dangerous and scary of their colleagues right now. Always with the creepy theories behind the creepy smile. "Hey, Sid."

Mac shook his head, small smile on his lips. "Out, both of you. I won't have unauthorized members of the public in my lab longer than necessary."

If they could have gotten away with pouting without suffering anymore jabs at their sexuality, Don and Danny would've, if only to stay in the familiar surroundings a little longer. Sadly, the rest of the CSIs teamed up, bent on seeing that they went returned to the apartment and went to (one) bed.

(It didn't happen.)


	6. Chapter 06: Fratellanza

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Six: Fratellanza (Fraternal Secrets)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

Wednesday evening was surprisingly quick in coming, and Don and Danny found themselves at the foot of Hays and McLean's apartment block. Dusk in the city, range skies and skyscrapers in the background, the two detectives, standing subconsciously close, shoulders nearly touching, mentally preparing themselves for –

"Hey guys. Come on up."

Smiles and good evenings as the three entered the apartment, and introductions to the rest of the group around the dining room table. It was a circular eight-seater; four seats were occupied, one by Hays and the other three by new faces. Two were Asian – or at least looked the part, with black hair, slanted eyes, and high cheekbones. The last man was bald, and had quite the burly frame. Faint lips on the radars, all of them, but – like Mac had said – they couldn't make any assumptions just yet. They didn't even know the names of these people, after all.

"We're a small group, but it's more comfortable like this, right?"

Don and Danny shrugged awkwardly.

"Oh, come now, no need to be so tense. I'm Moses White," the bald man greeted, "and this is Kousuke Yamamoto and Yuusuke Kawasaki. And, of course, you know Randal and Tim."

"Guys, this is Dominick, and Deyon. Dom, Dey, we're all family here, so make yourselves at home."

And McLean disappeared into the kitchen with Hays. In the meantime, the Japanese couple looked up at the detectives, hesitantly welcoming, and they joined the table. In almost no time at all, dinner had been brought out and the places were all set; the men talked over the meal, and Don eventually turned the topic to the church congregation, hoping they could get more information.

"Ah, Wilfred. He was the one who said I might see you here, you know. It's too bad I couldn't attend service last week; my wife – Jennifer, in case Tim didn't mention – was sick in bed, and I stayed home to take care of her…"

Danny looked up from his food, surprised. "Wife?"

An indulgent smile. "I suppose Tim forgot to tell you, too; I'm… well, straight."

"Sadly," McLean interjected jokingly.

Passing cloud of what the detectives interpreted as uncertainty, before White resumed his warm expression. "Perhaps."

"More importantly," Hays cut it, "How's Jennifer?"

"She's much better now, thank you, Randal."

* * *

Later, they had bible study, and the undercover agents took the chance to learn more about their newly-apparent cell group mates. Yamamoto and Kawasaki, as they'd demonstrated at the table as well as throughout the discussion, were quiet as the stereotype that came with their nationality – insightful though withdrawn – but they were in earnest about God and religion, perhaps more so than anyone else in the room. They had the subtle aura of _searching_ for something in the verses they read and studied, but _what_ they were looking for, neither Don nor Danny could fathom, and the rest of the cell group didn't seem to pay much attention to it. On the other hand, White seemed a born leader and blessed with the proverbial wisdom of God, bringing out the underlying meanings of the text and inviting discussion with little to no effort.

In closing, about an hour-and-a-half after they'd started, White offered a prayer:

"Dear Lord, we would like to thank You, for bringing this cell group together again, and also for opening our hearts and allowing us to partake in Your knowledge and spirit. We also pray, Lord, for the recently departed souls of Logan and Jonathan-"

Don and Danny supposed they should've expected the dedication, seeing as the whole department had bet the whole case on their John Does being a part of this cell group. All the same, they weren't the only ones caught off-guard; someone stiffened just that barely-perceptible bit, and what with all their eyes being closed, if Don hadn't been specially trained to _feel_ for a suspect's reaction in an interrogation, he wouldn't have picked it up at all. As it was, his partner didn't even notice until he nudged his knee to get his attention, and they stole a few glances around, eyes finally resting on Hays, who was just a little tense, and whose forehead was just a little creased with thoughts that most probably had nothing – or perhaps everything _wrong_ – to do with White's prayer.

"-that when they arrive at Your gates, You may find them pure and without sin. May You, Almighty, in your unending loving-kindness and mercy, forgive our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and uphold us through the week."

A short pause, then the chorused "Amen".

* * *

The five men left McLean and Hays' apartment, and split up for the walk home, with White going in one direction and the Kawasaki and Yamamoto walking with Don and Danny for a part of the way. They seemed uncomfortable about something, a little fidgety, a little nervous – uncertain. Eventually, Kawasaki spoke, words slightly halting and voice accented with his Japanese tongue trying to curl around English words.

"Dominick-san, Deyon-san. Listen. I know it is not polite, to talk behind other people's back, but we know you saw Randal-san's reaction just now. During prayer."

The detectives were more than a little surprised, and no words made themselves apparent, even as Don began running through a hundred and one excuses as to how, or perhaps why –

Yamamoto's lower, smoother voice. "Yuusuke-"

"Kyuudoka no watashi no koto dakara, kesshin ga niburumai. Kore ha kimi ga oshieta koto de ha nai ka."

"Kyuudoka dakara _koso_, konna koto wo suru mono de ha nai darou."

"Randal-san no koto wo-"

"Nanda? Mamoritai? Sono ageku ni, bokura no koto mo barete shimau osore ga-"

They both fell silent.

Bewilderment, unease, and general confusion between the two detectives.

Yamamoto sighed and picked up for his partner. "Yuusuke is… how should I put it, exaggerating. We are kyuudoka, archers. We pay close attention to our surroundings. He probably felt your… reactions, earlier, and got worried."

Clearly, this explanation wasn't enough. "Not just your reactions… Your" – Kawasaki floundered for a word – "ki is divided. …Sore ni mo kakawarazu, please do not misunderstand Randal-san. He and Jonathan-san-"

"_Iisugita yo, Yuusuke!_" Hissed reprimand.

Danny regained his focus at the mention of one of his John Does. "No, no, what about Randal-san and Jonathan-san?"

Another exasperated sigh. "They were close. Good friends. But you have heard the rumors about Logan-san and Jonathan-san. You have your own conclusions."

"…They were fighting."

Danny's eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he didn't like where this was going. Something of protectiveness for Hays. Beside him, uncertainty flickered over Don's face as well, and they closed up the gap between them, instinctively lapsing into the sort-of-formation they used when arresting armed and dangerous suspects, and then into the tone of voice when interrogating said suspects.

"When was this?"

"Days, weeks ago. Americans have always been too curious for their own good. A bad habit. …Ikuze, Yuusuke."

It wasn't so much anger as anxiety, and then not so much anxiety as panic, hidden under the surface. Yamamoto shifted his weight; the same worry seemed to infect Kawasaki as well, and they hurried away with a quick goodbye and an apology for the dramatics. Don and Danny sensed another long night of pulling up background information and making sense of their day – not to mention they had a meeting with the labs again tomorrow night…

* * *

"Alright. So, do we go after the suspicious _American_ guy, or the suspicious _Japanese_ guys?"

Danny snorted. "I like your emphasis, Montana."

"Unfortunately," Mac interrupted, "this lab does not support racism, or any other sort of bias."

"We _do_ still have a choice to make," Stella commented, scanning through the data sheets Don and Danny had brought it.

"It's just too bad we can't get all three."

There was a tight half-smile on Don's face as he retorted to Sheldon's statement. "So many people to offend, so little time."

"You _could_ wait for your killer to make his – _or_ her, you know, in the off chance – next move. Thanks, by the way, for inviting me up here. It gets lonely with only the corpses for company. A new one or two wouldn't hurt. You know, maybe."

The CSIs – plus one detective, who pretty much considered himself one of them anyway – turned to face Sid, their incredulity clear on their faces. As usual, it was incredulity tempered with quite the high dose of sarcasm and amusement, but the pathologist got the message: the unanimous notion that the CSI department couldn't live with or without Sid Hammerback. Of course, he never actually _meant_ most of what he said (with the exception of the hydrofluoric acid incident)…

The team was in one of the meeting rooms in the CSI building, and it was evening again. Mac stood, arms folded, at the front of the room, and Stella was sitting at one of the glass-topped desks. Don was half-sitting on another of said desks, with Lindsay in a swivel chair beside him and Danny leaning against the wall close by. Sid was also seated, and Sheldon stood, hands in the pockets of his labcoat, beside him. All in all a typical meeting room layout, with everyone discarding propriety – most outsiders found in surprising that Mac had such double standards for lab-etiquette and office-etiquette – to find their most comfortable places. And the two undercover agents had just brought in a new set of data, and they were just tossing facts about the case around, trying to get some new insight and figure out _which_ suspect to go after first. Hopefully, there would be no need for a second.

Eventually, Don recalled the hostile from Sunday morning. "How's Herring, by the way?"

Sheldon looked up from his digital clipboard. "As far as we know? Clean. Adam's working on it, though we've already tried everything short of tampering with the evidence outright."

Mac shook his head, smiling. "Hawkes, we should be _glad_ to clear an innocent's name."

"Unless that someone happens be such an ass."

"Danny, if we judged people like that, even Sing Sing wouldn't last very long."

Snickers around the room as they thought of names they would've loved to see on the prison roster.

* * *

Eventually, they determined Hays to be the prime suspect, what with Yamamoto and Kawasaki's eye-witness accounts and his reaction to White's prayer observed by Don and Danny's own eyes. At the very least, there was a possible motive – maybe he'd killed Howard to finish the argument he'd started, and Gray had gotten caught up in the clash. Maybe.

"Alright, so we have a suspect." Stella pushed away from the table, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

Mac smiled at the relief in his partner's voice, and he was almost loathe to burst her – and probably the whole lab's – bubble. "But do we have an arrest warrant?"

Don shook his head. "Nada. Don't think the DA's gonna let you arrest a free man just like that. _And_ I won't be there to sweet talk anyone for you. Not that I would, even if I could. I'm still not too convinced about this."

"So we're screwed, of course, since you're such a crucial part of the bargaining process," Lindsay countered sweetly.

The cop couldn't help the sheepish grin across his face.

From behind him, Danny – abnormally quiet for the later half of the discussion – spoke up. "…What if Hays isn't the one we should be after?"

"We won't know that for sure until we try, Danny."

"You've not met him, Stel. None of _you_ have met any of _them_."

"And I suppose, caught in the middle as you are, you're suffering from-"

Danny winced at the sharpness in his boss' voice, but he wasn't about to take it lying down. "I'm not looking for _sympathy_. Or any shit like that. Although, yes, you _did _assign me'n Don this job without much thought about how _we'd_ cope. But these people-"

"Which is why," Sheldon interrupted, trying to mediate between his two colleagues, "we'll double-check Hays' background, just to be sure, _before_ we make any moves."

Both men subsided, Mac frowning and Danny running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Look, these people are _good_ people. That's all."

"We don't doubt it, Danny. But even good people do stupid things, sometimes."

Resigned, Danny pulled up a chair on Don's other side – the side that wasn't occupied by Lindsay – and slid into it.

"Get Adam to double the search spiders on Hays," Mac concluded, then turned to Danny and Don. "You'll be the first to know if anything turns up."

* * *

Not at all soothed, Don and Danny left the other CSIs to their night shifts and headed back to their apartment. Although Danny had been the one to protest outright, he knew his partner was at least equally disconcerted with how things had turned out. Especially when they remembered how they'd even got their information in the first place… They'd left a transcript of the conversation – as best as they could remember – with Mac, to pass to Adam, who was just back from Phoenix, the next day. Even so, the detectives weren't all too sure about the accuracy of their memories, especially with the utterly foreign tongue they'd been required to remember, but that couldn't be helped.

All they could do now, they supposed, whether about the verdict on Hays or the translated conversation between the Japanese couple, was wait.

They didn't have to wait long; Friday evening, when Don returned home, Danny was on the apartment's landline. Within five minutes – the time it took Don to rid himself of the cumbersome outer layers of his suit – Danny was off the phone and beside him at the table.

"They got a hit in IAFIS."

* * *

Notes:  
The hydrofluoric acid incident reference to CSI:NY 418, Taxi Cab Killer.


	7. Chapter 07: Tradimento

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Seven: Tradimento (Feelings That Were Once Sacred)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"Mac, _no_."

"We promised you the background check, and here you go." The head CSI tossed the IAFIS printout onto the table in its folder. "We've delayed this for half a _week_, Danny. Even if this doesn't seem like much to _you_-"

Don folded his arms; a defensive growl on his partner's behalf. "But, there _isn't_ another body, is there."

"Boys, we _know_ you think these guys are innocent. And everyone in this lab would love it to be true. But if we're going to prove it, we need to ask some questions."

Stella placed a hand both their shoulders; if she had a third hand she would've clapped one on her partner's as well. A woman's touch always _was_ more soothing, and then she was almost _used_ to mediating between what could've been the three most stubborn men on the planet. Add to that the fact that they – all three – needed proper _logic_ and a winning argument to back down… Thankfully, the two undercover agents had been defensive only _because_ they knew Mac was right; they subsided, taking a moment to nurse their pride and resign themselves to his decision.

"Alright. Fine." Pause. _If you wanna be that way, _"Fine."

Danny glowered slightly, sighed. "What he said."

"Good. Now, we know that if he did it-"

"_If_."

"If," Mac acceded, "he did it, he would've been finishing up the job. So the question now is…"

"Why," Stella returned, obliging. "start in the first place?"

"So what, is that our job, now?"

"No. Ask one too many questions and you'll blow your cover. Pulled a few strings while we were _waiting_" – a reprimanding look – "and the parole office has a new appointment on Thursday."

"So we get field notes, and that's it?"

"For _you_, yes. Mac and I will be dropping by the parole office for a guest appearance."

A short pause as Don and Danny digested the plan.

"…You're not arresting him."

"No, we're not." A hint of a smile at the corner of Mac's mouth.

Don's shoulders slacked completely in relief. "Thanks, Mac."

* * *

Caught between anxiety – for both parties on Thursday – and relief that drastic action had been ruled out, the remainder of the week passed in the hazy blur of routine. On Sunday, Fletcher had been mild and Herring as hostile as usual; neither more nor less suspicious than they'd been in the first place. Then, Danny and Don had met up with the other CSIs on Monday night, though Mac had assigned the rest of the team to work on a new – thankfully, simpler – case, and so they hadn't been able to stay to witness the argument over the arrest-turned-parole-meeting. Wednesday night, they met up with their cell group at White's apartment, a simple affair that showed, perhaps a little too clearly, that White and his wife (they didn't have kids, as far as the background checks went) valued comfort over style. The parole meeting was brought up over dinner – just a passing mention – and the detectives caught a various signals from every member of the group; nothing too suspicious, but reactions nonetheless, varying from surprise to anxiety to slight disapproval, that were promptly memorized as best they could for Thursday night's meeting.

Thursday.

* * *

In the waiting room of the parole office, Mac and Stella sat on a cushioned bench, waiting for their target to enter. The door chime tinkled lightly, and two men stepped in, headed straight for registration. A quiet conversation between them and the receptionist, then one of them strode to a door – plaque that read _Dr Nadine Conley_ – with the other just one step behind.

One hand on the doorknob, the first turned to face the second. His voice was quiet, yet low and it travelled easily to the two CSIs.

"Tim, I'd rather do this alone."

McLean nodded and backed off after clapping a reassuring hand on Hays' shoulder. "Have fun," he offered, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Hays nodded, a slight grimace on his face, and disappeared behind the door to the office.

As McLean sat himself on the bench a little away from Mac and Stella – worry all too obvious in his posture – the two detectives glanced at each other.

_Well, there's our guy._

_Let's go.

* * *

_

"Good afternoon, Randal. I'm sorry to call you in on such short notice."

"No, not at all."

An awkward pause; Hays hadn't been to the parole office for quite some time, so it was disorienting to be asked after by this now half-stranger, and then he'd never been the talkative type in the first place.

"…So, how have you been doing? Anything you'd like to tell me?"

A flash of guilt. "No."

Conley allowed herself to frown. "You know I don't like being lied to, so I'm going to be straight forward, and let's just hope you're telling the truth. I have… certain news… about a parole violation... Care to clear it up?"

Hays winced. "Such a negative way of putting things…" he offered a weak smile. "It won't sound good. Still want to hear it?"

She nodded. "However. Would you mind if I invited some officers in, as well?"

Guilt shifted to self-righteous anger, then resigned understanding. "Go ahead."

Conley nodded again, and left the room for a short while; she returned with Mac and Stella, and McLean ducked in a shot step behind them.

* * *

Hays glanced around him – at McLean, beside him, and at Conley, along with two officers he'd never seen before in his life, opposite him across the desk, and at the tape recorder _on _the desk. He sighed. "Am I in any particular trouble?"

The male officer shook his head. "No. Our department would simply like your cooperation in our investigation."

"And, conveniently, Dr Conley just _randomly_ decided to shift Ran's appointment up? To a day when you would _coincidentally_ be here?" McLean bristled, his words surprisingly sharp against his usual tone.

A dry smile from the officer. "Yes," was the tight reply, "now, if we can get on to business, I am Detective Mac Taylor, and this is Detective Stella Bonasera."

"Randal Hays, and Timothy McLean," he returned, keeping his voice as cordial as possible, "You already know Dr Conley."

"Thank you, Hays." Stella offered a smile.

He nodded. "So, this is about Jon, isn't it? Jon and Logan."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that's what we're here about?"

A shrug. "It was the most obvious possibility."

"Alright, so what can you tell us?"

"That I didn't kill them."

"Yes, but, you see, we want to know about the _fight_ you had, as well."

McLean glowered at Stella on his boyfriend's behalf, but she – and Mac – ignored him in favor of listening to Hays' account.

"…We were fighting over theology. Whether it was right or wrong, to be… gay." A pause, and rising agitation. "He refused to believe it could be alright. I punched him, wanted knocked some sense into him."

"A… punch," Mac echoed skeptically, "over the _Bible_, which says _'Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these'_?"

Hays got up, started pacing. "That's precisely _it_. Love is the greatest commandment, first to God, and then to fellow man. And our love" – he glanced at McLean – "is no different than that. In fact, compared to the shit normal couples come up with, don't you think we might even be better off? But _he_ was just. Just _wallowing_ in guilt, and he was making Logan suffer, and those two – hell, everyone in our cell group – are family to us! I couldn't just _watch_ him destroy what he and Logan had; I've _been _there before, when I got charged for assault and Tim had to be alone for all those years-" He let out a soft roar of frustration and sat back down, burying his face in his hands.

Stunned silence.

"But I didn't do it," Hays murmured finally, "I didn't do it."

McLean placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Softly, gently, so that even the detectives and counselor just a desk away could barely hear, "Ran, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to get in trouble. I'm sorry."

Conley, silent up till now, felt more than a little awkward between the two couples. Her charge and his boyfriend were sitting opposite her, both of them taking the time to calm down and sort things out between them; and the detectives beside her were having a silent exchange. As a psychologist, she prided herself on being able to read most people's real emotions – the ones they hid _under_ everything – and it pleased her immensely (it was a maternal sort of satisfaction) to see two such healthy relationships, despite the unfortunate meeting circumstances.

Meanwhile, Mac and Stella had arrived at a conclusion.

_He's telling the truth…?_

_He's telling the truth.

* * *

_

Mac and Stella shook Hays' and McLean's hands.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

"…And, we're sorry about Howard and Gray."

The couple accepted the greetings steadily, then Hays looked up, resignation in his eyes. "I doubt you have an answer for me, so I'm not going to waste my breath, but, whoever told you about my fight with Jon…"

"We'll look into it."

And the two detectives left the room, the parole officer ducking out as well for cordialities.

"Thank you, Dr Conley. We realize this probably wasn't what you had in mind."

Conley shook her head. "I would've heard about it eventually, anyway, I should think. Will Randal…?"

"We'll be keeping them on-file, but, for now, they're off the suspect list."

Relief. "And might I tell them this?"

"Yes," Stella returned, "_please_ tell them. They looked like they'll need it."

The two CSIs showed themselves out and Conley returned to her office.

* * *

Down the street and back to the unmarked car. The air around them felt heavier than usual, as it always tended to when they let their guard down and allowed themselves to get involved in their suspects' stories. Times like this, they remembered all-too-clearly that the justice system in New York – across the world – wasn't only of the black-and-white of the legal documents. And then, as investigators, even as detectives who prided themselves on the integrity of their experimental data and evidence, they weren't purely in the white zone, either.

"He's not actually off the suspect list, is he?"

Mac had a contemplative look on his face; most of the lab knew by now that this meant he was attending to two different thought process, one just beneath the surface of his mind and the other only a skeleton crew of societal norms for delivering his curt – often monosyllabic – conclusions. It was this expression that usually indicated he was about to disappear on a solo hunt for a highly-dangerous criminal to prevent his team from getting hurt. Thankfully, for now, he was only processing what he'd heard earlier, and deciding…

"He'd have to be a very good actor," he said, finally, half-smile-half-grimace on his lips," but no, not just yet."

"And what about 'we'll look into it'?"

"We will."

* * *

A drive back through town and they were once more within the walls of the lab they'd come to regard as sanctuary. Everything was in full-gear, with Lindsay and Sheldon covering rather promising leads on their new case – it seemed like it would be coming to a close quite soon – and Adam was just done with the translation work. Reviews, thankfully short, came in from all sides as the two senior-most detectives parsed their data into the lab computer.

"Alright, Mac, so I got it done…at last… Uhm. Here." He passed a single-page printout to them.

_CRUCIFIXION CASE TRANSLATION REPORT_

_(See facing side for original transcript.)_

_-Main Translation-_

_Yuusuke-_

_As a kyuudoka, I will not let my resolution waver. _You _taught me this._

_And _because _you are kyuudoka, we shouldn't be doing this!_

_But what about Randal?_

_What about him? You want to protect him? There's no saying if they'll find out about _us_ as well!_

_-Additional Transcript And Notes-_

_ kyuudoka: Student of archery-type Japanese martial art._

_ ki: Spirit; life energy._

_ sore ni mo kakawarazu: Regardless._

_ iisugita yo: You've said too much!_

"A week, for this?"

"Hey, man, you have no idea how hard it was. Don and Danny have absolutely no ear for Japanese, we had to _decode_ the transcript-"

Raised eyebrows. "Sorry. Mac. Stella. Right. I'll be going now."

"Hold on, Adam. Your job's not over yet."

A flash of apprehension.

Stella offered the flustered lab technician a smile. "It won't be _that_ bad."

"Yamamoto and Kawasaki. I want you to track down _everything_ about them. Do whatever you have to, even if it means flying down to Japan."

Adam winced. His suspicions had just been confirmed – another highly-tedious job, with quite the dose of near-impossibility. "Got it."

He retreated from the room and hurried down the corridor; closely missed Sheldon, who was heading in the opposite direction to consult Stella and Mac.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were bullying him on purpose, Mac."  
Quiet laughter. Adam was simply too jittery on- or off-job to not be the butt of _some_ jokes, but they all knew he was quite the invaluable part of the CSI team.

"So, do you want to start, or?" There was a clear anticipation in the pathologist's eyes.

Stella grinned. "Since you want to know so badly… Why don't you start? We'll brief everyone together, when Don and Danny get here."

A disappointed non-reply and a near-pout.

It was obvious he wanted to hear of Mac and Stella's progress; in fact, the whole lab had gained a sort of morbid fascination with what they'd dubbed "The Crucifixion Case". Unfortunately, it was still a few hours before the two undercover detectives could make their way over to the CSI building.

* * *

"I see you enjoy keeping us in suspense," Sid commented dryly.

The CSIs had once again gathered in a meeting room, and, with Don and Danny finally around, it was time to reveal the mystery verdict – mystery, at least, to the undercover agents and the rest of the detectives who'd taken individual interests in the case. To Mac and Stella, who'd been running through McLean and Hays' story, trying to work out any possible kinks they could set Adam on after he was done with Yamamoto and Kawasaki. Stella had tried her best to help, drawing on her Catholic background, and experience with the theological arguments in St Basil's. But in the end…

"Hays," Mac finally started, "is off the hook-"

You could just see the relief flooding Don and Danny as both men relaxed back into their chairs.

"-for now," Stella finished for her partner, amused smile on her face.

The guys tensed a little, and the rest of the lab shook their heads at their seniors' antics – as close to antics as they got, anyway.

"The same goes for McLean; but based on the kind of profiles you've" – he nodded to Don and Danny – "given us, the behavior we saw was more than a little off."

Stella picked up, "On the other hand, after _quite_ the delay-"

Danny rounded jokingly on the lab tech, "Thought you said you had it under control, Adam?"

Adam winced. "I _thought_ I did…"

A pause for the CSIs to watch the lab tech drown in his mortification, no hard feelings, and then Stella passed the translation script around.

"This is what Adam turned up, and _I_, for one, am just hoping the next search will take a little less time."

Don looked up from the translation document. "…You're going after _them_, now?"

"Rest assured, we'll be taking a look at Herring, as well."

"How many suspects does that _make_, Mac?"

"Six, for now. If he's not careful, White's going to be on the list, too. But even if we _did _need personnel, Hawkes, you _know_ there's only you and Lindsay left of the lab."

"Which probably means we'll be stuck with the normal jobs?"

Stella grinned. "Sadly, yes."


	8. Chapter 08: Ancora

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Eight: Ancora (We Were Hoping This Wouldn't Happen…)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

A few knocks on the apartment door. "Tim? Randal?"

Silence. It'd been yet another week since the pair had been cleared, and the labs had started their investigation on Herring. Expectedly, he'd been utterly uncooperative, sending Mac and Stella on quite a few phone calls – and a finally successful trip – down to the DA's office. The warrant was being put into use even now, but Don and Danny were more worried about their friends, who'd not turned up for the cell group meeting at Yamamoto and Kawasaki's place last night. (They barely noticed that, yes, these people were _friends_ now, not just _people_ they had to interact with- ) They hadn't answered their phones, when the two detectives had tried to call them, and they weren't answering their door now.

It didn't help their nerves that Herring lived only a few floors down.

Worse still, this wasn't an arrest, or even anything close, where either of them could simply announce their credentials and kick the door down. Nor could they just _call_ one of the team downstairs; rather, they _could_, but Mac better be as good at fabricating stories as Danny thought he was –

* * *

"Detective Taylor."

"_Mac."_

"…I _hope_ you have a good reason for calling me while on the job."

Stella looked up questioningly at her partner. They had been in the midst of (unceremoniously, and, they had to admit, a little vindictively) searching around a seething Herring and his confused family, when Mac's phone had rung. It was lucky Herring was too busy fuming at them, else he might have overheard the familiar voice on the line… Mac nodded to Stella and ducked out of the apartment.

"Okay, talk."

"Hays and McLean are _not_ answering the door. Or their phones. We're starting to get a little worried here."

There was the sound of the phone changing hands, then Don's voice. "Of course, we could always kick the door down ourselves."

"…I'll be up."

He hung up on the triumph he just _knew_ was emanating from the two men on the other end of the line, returned to the kitchen Stella was currently overturning. Clinically, of course, documenting anything suspicious. But overturning, nonetheless – and she looked like she was enjoying herself.

"I got a re-route from the call center. Someone called from a few floors up, they want us to check it out."

A moment's hesitation as Stella realized what he was talking about. "Got it. I'll finish up here; you can head up first?"

Mac nodded, and was about to leave, but Herring blocked the door.

"_What_ re-route, and _which_ floor?"

"It doesn't concern you."

"Like hell it does! You're wrecking my house for a murder investigation, and someone calls from _a few floors up_."

Nonplussed gaze.

"…Whatever it is," Herring hissed, "if the two faggots upstairs are dead, it _wasn't_ me."

"That's quite a bit of language from one of God's children."

He flinched. "The Lord knows it's one of my character flaws, and I'm trying to change it. …It, just, wasn't me, alright?"

Despite the slight restraint he now showed, Herring was still obviously angry – or at least, upset. He stalked back to his family, leaving the way clear for Mac to head out of the apartment and up to meet Don and Danny.

* * *

Even without turning, Don and Danny recognized Mac's presence easily, but they waited for him to be just beside them before speaking.

"Officer," Don greeted, smirking.

Mac glanced around, confirmed that the area was secure, then rolled his eyes and returned the smile. "Don, Danny."

"So, is Herring as unpleasant as we told you?"

"Stella would probably say worse."

"Hi, Mac." There was quiet laughter in Danny's voice.

The three detectives sobered themselves, remembering the situation they were facing, and took up a formation around the door. All reached for their guns instinctively; only Mac successfully retrieved his from his holster – the other two recalled that they were currently civilians and flanked the door unarmed.

"NYPD," Mac called out, knocking on the door. "Open up."

A short pause, and silence.

Mac nodded to his colleagues; _three, two, one-_

The door gave with a muted crash against the apartment's carpeted floor; Mac took point and Don and Danny followed him in a few tense seconds behind. Still the uneasy silence – and then, the stench. It wasn't really a _stench_ – not compared to the horrific smell of a body after two weeks of underwater decomposition – but it was there, and CSIs would know it anywhere, detect it even in the smallest amounts. Sheldon liked to call it, poetically – and they could just hear his voice in their heads – the _stench of death_.

Tension mounting. They split up, one to the kitchen, one to the bathroom, one to the-

"…Flack, Messer."

The two undercover agents didn't like the sound of that at all.

* * *

Danny couldn't speak for shock, and then words wouldn't have been enough to convey the kind of whirlwind that was currently ravaging his head. Don appeared around the doorframe a few seconds later, and froze, equally shocked, on the spot. Neither of them could make it to where Mac was standing, just by the bed, and –

Across the two bodies nailed to the wall.

Memories screamed through Danny's head; memories of Aiden, memories of his brother still comatose at the hospital, memories of Reuben under the pathologist's cover. Memories of the utter vulnerability of those inanimate corpses, the helplessness that numbed _his_ entire body, reminding him that he couldn't do anything to help them – not then, not now. _Find the killer. Give them justice._ The mantra that had run through his head during all three cases. He clung to it now, because his reason was too preoccupied with berating him for not _seeing_ that this would happen and preventing it. In fact, this was probably – at least, indirectly – his fault. Again. If only…

His thoughts trailed to oblivion as he felt Mac's gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the living room. They stopped by the bedroom door to collect Don, who was only that little bit better off, and then only because he was still in shock. They were in the living room, and Mac was saying something. Dimly, they noticed Stella enter through the open doorway. Mac was saying something. Stella was saying something. There were bodies in the bedroom; people they knew, people they could have protected. Instinctively – or, as per what he'd _trained_ into instinct, specifically for this job – he backed into the height that Deyon Marx recognized as boyfriend and safety: Dominick Flynn.

Don caught him, cradling without actually touching, and the world faded slowly back into focus.

"…home. You both _know_ what kind of states you're in right now. Stella and I will take care of this."

"This is our case, too," came the half-hearted protest from beside him.

"And your job right now is to _go home_ and figure out what your next move as _Marx and Flynn_ will be."

"As you _say_, _officer_," Danny spat, letting familiar anger supplant the pain in his gut. "Let's go, Dom."

Dom. Don reacted to that name as naturally as he reacted to his real name; it was just a consonant of difference, anyway. They turned to leave, and Stella shook her head, understanding yet exasperated, before joining a rather terse Mac to process the scene.

* * *

As they circled the room with their cameras and swabs, snapping photos and collecting hopeful samples, Mac retreated deeper and deeper into his thoughts. The small frown on his lips lasted through the phone call to base, asking for backup to secure the apartment and, more importantly, Sid. What with the stakes hammered through the bodies again, the pathologist would probably prefer to examine the bodies before bringing them back to the lab. Quick acknowledgements of his instructions; he shut his phone and returned to his mechanical processing of his half of the room.

"…You're regretting something."

Mac looked up, a little startled, at his partner's voice. It was a show of just how absorbed he'd been in his reflections; it took _quite_ a lot to surprise the head CSI. "I'm trying to _decide_ if I regret it."

Stella glanced at the two new victims – they didn't have the comfort of the impersonal 'John Doe" here – then back at Mac. "Yeah?"

"They're getting too involved in the case. And that's just one of the reasons. You heard Danny."

"Slip of the tongue." She attempted a nonchalant shrug. "They're both stressed out. Maybe even past their limits."

"Precisely."

"We had no choice."

"We never have _no_ choices, Stella. We just-"

"Don't try hard enough …_I_ argued for this choice, Mac, so stop blaming yourself for it."

Mac couldn't help but respond to the reassurance in Stella's voice, however slight the curve in his lips was, though it quickly faded with when he looked up to meet his partner's eyes. The two corpses on the wall in the corner of his eyes were quickly succeeded the two bodies still in cold storage at autopsy, followed by the two colleagues among the whole lab he'd sworn to protect. His family, his responsibility. But Stella always had that way of _getting_ to him; proper, slow, consideration of their current situation would have to wait until he found some time alone – _if_ he ever did, what with the drama this case was promising. Hopefully, they were following the right lead this time…

He changed the topic accordingly. "…So, how did the raid downstairs go?"

"Oh, very well. Don't know how many red herrings I got, though-"

"You did _not_ just say that, Stella."

A sheepish smile. "Just trying to lighten you up, Mac. Anyway, I got fingerprints, hair, Herring's day planner. Adam's going to have a field day with _that_."

A raised eyebrow.

"Clients all over the place. Records put him as a stockbroker, so we're probably talking people in places."

"People who don't care for questions, I take it."

"Precisely."

"Let's hope he's done with Yamamoto and Kawasaki."

"Actually, he _expressly_ asked me to pass you a message regarding them, Mac."

The two CSIs turned to greet the familiar voice.

"Hey, Sid."

"Stella," the pathologist returned cheerily, glancing around, "looks like another… gruesome… murder…"

Attracted like a large, amiable fly to a carcass, Sid drifted to the wall, absently laying out the evidence bags in preparation.

"The _news_, Sid?"

"Oh, yes, that. You won't believe it; straight out of one of those… Japanese dramas…" His voice was half-dreamy, like it usually was when he reported on his autopsies.

"Sid."

The pathologist jumped slightly. "Right. Right. He wanted you to know it was crazy, and the Japanese government didn't want us nosing in their files… …Here, look at this. Defensive wounds. Your vics weren't as docile as the last couple…"

Stella and Mac rolled their eyes in unison. It simply wasn't possible to pull the eccentric doctor from his subjects once he got started. The man had managed to cultivate a morbid fascination with nearly _everything_, leading to the sudden career change from chef to pathologist. It helped, of course, that he was an even greater genius than Sheldon. Unfortunately, none of this contributed – in fact, all of it _detracted from_ – his ability to convey information when he was occupied with something else. His colleagues decided to just follow along; he would get to it when he did. In the meantime, the rest of the apartment would have to be processed, and then the neighbors – _especially_ Herring – would have to be interviewed.

* * *

Just as they finished with the kitchen – the killer hadn't stopped for dinner this time, what with the lack of a third set of utensils – Sid emerged from the bedroom with an armful of evidence bags.

"Right. Sorry. About Yamamoto and Kawasaki."

"_Yes_, Sid." Stella shook her head amusedly.

A smile that made his colleagues wonder if he'd been keeping them in suspense on purpose all this time. "Those aren't their real names."

Dumbfounded silence.

* * *

Notes:  
The horrific smell of a body after two weeks of underwater decomposition reference from CSI:NY 402, The Deep.  
The memories of Aiden, memories of [Danny's] brother [..., and] memories of Reuben reference from CSI:NY 223, Heroes, 220, Run Silent, Run Deep, and 419, Personal Foul.


	9. A Note From The Authoress

**Sotto copertura**

_A Note._**  
**

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

A Note From LoveAnimeForever:

To everyone who's been nice enough to read up till here, thank you~ And to those who have gotten used to my posting regularly on Thursday, Sotto copertura will be on hold so I can attend to my NaNoWriMo and will, assuredly, be back on the first week of December. ^.^~


	10. Chapter 09: Emozione

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Nine: Emozione (That Screws With Your Mind)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"_Adam._ You own a _phone_. This should have come to me _directly_. _Immediately._"

"Look, boss, I thought, since Sid would be heading down anyway… And-and-"

Stella chuckled at the lab tech's clumsy explanation. "Sid said to leave it to him, right?"

Vehement nod.

"Alright, show me."

Adam pushed his swivel chair to the computer and pulled up the files.

"It was _really_ annoying getting past the Japanese firewalls. You know how they love their compu-"

"Sid told us, Adam." Mac smiled, amused.

"R-right. H-here. Yamamoto Kousuke and Kawasaki Yuusuke. Trace back a few years, and there are _no_ records for these names in America, Japan, or anywhere else in the world. See? _But_, in Japan, about two years back, we have a _Yamazaki_ Kousuke _and_ Yuusuke, who disappear just like that."

"A legal name change."

Adam nodded.

"So, the question is, why?"

* * *

Back at home, Danny headed straight for the fridge the moment he and Don got the door open. He pulled out a few beers – more than "a few, really – and tossed some of them at his partner on the sofa. Half-hearted, lazy, catches received them, and he carried the rest of the cans in his arms. They popped one open each.

"Here's to misery loves company, Mess," Don muttered, and gulped down half the contents of the can at one go.

Danny joined him. "It's just too damn bad alcohol don't contain cyanide."

"That'd be making the killer's job too easy."

A dry laugh. "No, it'd be making _our_ jobs too easy."

It wasn't often that Don saw his best friend so cynical. Sure, living in New York tended to make a person sarcastic, and if you got away with just that, most people considered you lucky. But maybe this had been the tipping point; hell, it was driving _him_ up the wall, too. Maybe – probably – if they'd argued hard enough, Mac wouldn't have arranged the parole meeting. It was all so roundabout in his head, around the shock, that Don didn't know why this was so important. He only knew that it was somehow crucial, somehow the heaviest weight in his instincts and in Danny's as well.

Drifting through the absently gathering haze of his third or fourth beer, things started to order themselves into some semblance of reason. The parole meeting. They'd started investigating Herring in earnest only _after_ that, hadn't they? So, maybe Herring knew about the meeting (Hays hadn't exactly kept it a secret, after all) and thought the couple had ratted on him. So, he killed them; to shut them up, to take revenge. Was that it? Would it make sense outside of his currently convoluted logic?

Beside him, Danny slumped a little deeper into the couch.

"It's not our fault," Don murmured, patting his partner on the shoulder.

It was a pointless attempt at comforting him, with a statement he didn't even wholly believe in, himself.

And then, callous as it sounded, because seeing Danny so _beaten _was just too unnatural to bear, "The killer probably targeted them even before we were _in_ the picture, anyway."

His partner shook his head weakly. "We could've protected them. We could've… told… them. We could've _been_ there, Don."

There was nothing Don could say to that, especially when it rang so perfectly true despite Danny's half-drunk slurring.

"We were takin' it too easy… We… gotta be… more careful… from now on…"

And there was nothing the cop could say to that, either; he nodded mutely.

On the one hand, if the most quick-tempered CSI had just determined to be more _careful_, there was obviously more than enough alcohol in their bloodstreams. Yet, the way Danny looked at it, if he could still think about _responsibility_, and the _pain_ and _guilt_ – and since Don was suffering, too – they obviously hadn't had _enough_ beer. More, then, was in order. To drown it all out. _All_ of it.

* * *

Eventually, they drank their way through all the beer in their fridge, and then they were well and truly _drunk_. But it was still _there_, and it had actually become _clearer_ with the alcohol, that there was something _else_; they were guilty about something else, they were angry about something other than letting the killer get to Hays and McLean. But it was hard to get at, and even harder to understand. So they blocked it out, and pretended it was just the killer.

…Pretending was something that came all too easily nowadays.

"Bed," Danny grunted, and he got up, stumbled toward the bedroom.

He didn't make it far, barely catching himself against the wall when his foot dragged just enough against the carpet to make him lose his balance. A familiar warmth behind him, and the smell of even more alcohol; Don, trying to help him up, and then both of them just giving up and sliding down onto the floor against the wall. Tangle of limbs, both of them somehow sprawled against _each other_, but they managed to rearrange themselves into semblances of sitting positions.

As the dizziness started to clear, Danny vaguely began to remember the lab mourning together for Aiden after closing her case – Mac lending him a shoulder to cry on when Louie was hospitalized – sleeping with Rikki to blank out the image of Reuben in Sid's lab… Comfort came in so many forms, and none of them were available to either him or his partner right now. He slammed his head backwards into the wall in frustration, let out a quiet snarl.

…Touch, firm yet gentle, the same as when Dominick held Deyon around the hips.

Danny turned, and glazed met glassy. So different than the paternal warmth that Mac sometimes showed, here was something that was actually taking the pain _away_, instead of just being there as it drained on its own.

"Easy, Da-nny… It's- not… your f-ault…"

Danny shook his head slowly, careful not to upset the already dizzy world spinning in his blurring vision. Tears. "…Is."

Don's hand tightened unsteadily around his partner's shoulders. His brain was as much of a addled mess as his friend's; it was simply that his father had never encouraged any emotions other than temper and stubborn will, whereas - from what he knew about Danny - _his_ family had been an ideal cooking pot for fierce, passionate emotions. Or maybe Danny was just like that.

And even though Don's thoughts made it sound like emotions were a bad thing, it was only because the police force, especially, required its officers to learn to detach themselves, whereas Mac and his labs encouraged instinct to a _certain_ extent. They needed their instincts to figure out the kind of ridiculously difficult puzzles they were thrown, after all. And emotions and Danny didn't clash at all. But Don really had absolutely _no _idea what to do to comfort his friend, and that was on a normal basis; drunk, he didn't even want to think about it, for fear of making things worse. Thankfully, Danny seemed to get the message.

Sighing, he leaned into his friend's side. "S-o what, are we jus'… gonna… pass out here…?"

"I th-ink so."

They did.

* * *

The next morning, possibly the most memorable "morning after" either detective had had, started with Danny waking up, and finding himself curled against his partners chest, on the floor, with a pounding headache.

"Oh god, my head… Shit, Don, what the hell?"

Don started at the too-loud voice by his ear that triggered a similar throbbing in his temples. "Not so loud, Messer… Ugh. I think I was going to tell you the bed was mine."

"To hell with that." Danny scrambled up, nearly losing his balance just _that_ many times. "Aspirin."

Like an undead risen from his grave, he staggered to the kitchen and ran through cupboard after cupboard until he found the pills he was hoping would rid them of their hangovers. Beside him, Don pulled glasses from their drawers and filled them with water. Automatically – because they both knew enough of drinking and mornings-after – they downed the aspirins and the water, then slunk back to the living room sofas to rest their disoriented bodies.

"I'm _never _doing that again."

Don chuckled. "You know you don't mean it, Mess. Feeling any better?"

"Ever so slightly… Thanks," – pause – "Flack."

What was this, now? Suddenly there was a vague ache, somehow _there_, something _other_ than the still-strong, though receding, headache that rattled his brains. The loss of familiarity, of the comfort that had blanked out the panic of last night. His thoughts slowly righted themselves, clawing away at the diminishing drunk's haze, the image of Hays and McLean suddenly assaulting his vision. Suffocating. He turned to look at his partner, half-conscious beside him. Suffocating.

"Don."

"Yeah?"

Blue eyes met blue. Don looked up at the sound of his name, startled by how haggard his partner suddenly looked. Five minutes ago, the man had been fine – a little hung over, a little grouchy, but fine. Now… He wanted to discard his own uncertainty, if only to support his friend; and now he saw something of the same question in those blue eyes. Who knew that the way you addressed someone could have so much impact? Of course, there was something underneath that, too, but Don didn't like to look under rocks he couldn't lift with his own strength, and neither did Danny.

"…Nothing."

"Danny?"

The slight relief returning to those eyes. "It's nothing, Don. Nothing Danny Messer can't handle."

* * *

In quite a different morning atmosphere, Mac and Stella had caught Yamamoto and Kawasaki – now, they knew, the Yamazaki brothers – at the neighbourhood archery range. It had been part of Don and Danny's first report on their cell group, with the undercover detectives asking about interests and hence gleaning some information about habits. We do kyuudo, the brothers had told them, at the range every morning. It's a ritual for us.

Luckily for the CSIs, that ritual didn't change despite four murders in the cell group.

"Yamamoto Kousuke and Kawasaki Yuusuke?"

The two Japanese men, dressed in their traditional archer's garb, turned and greeted them with elegant bows. "Good morning. Is there something we can do to help you?"

"Yes, actually." Stella held out the printed copies of their name-change documents. "Could you tell us more about these?"

The brothers paled, yet managed to hold their ground. "We have never seen these documents before."

Mac flashed his badge.

Resignation. "Can we talk somewhere… more… ah…" Yamamoto looked askance at his brother. "Uchi tte iu no ha…"

Kawasaki rested a reassuring hand on his elder sibling's arm. "More, private."

The detectives allowed themselves to be led to the reception room of the archery range, and Stella waited there while Mac kept tabs on the brothers as they changed back into civilian wear. The four then headed for the Yamazakis' apartment, a few blocks down, and it was only after they'd settled in the living room that they were willing to talk.

"Do you like green tea?" Kawasaki, voice surprisingly serene, no doubt from the meditation during their earlier archery practice.

"No preference," Stella returned shrugging. "Why?"

But he'd already disappeared into the kitchen.

"I suppose you can always trust Japanese hospitality."

A wry smile from Yamamoto. "Certainly."

"Well then, I hope we can count on your answers as well." Mac placed the documents from earlier on the table.

Yamamoto slid them closer to him, inspecting. "Perhaps."

He sounded… Not _guilty_, per se, as most people did when confronted with this kind of situation. Instead, just – sad. Fearful, slightly, but mostly sad.

Kawasaki returned shortly with a tray bearing the promised green tea – and not the instant type, quite apparently, judging from the heavy aroma. He set the traditional tea pot and ceramic cups on the table, served it gracefully. He was slender, of a build Stella didn't see too often here in America, and she was struck with the image of a _lady_, really, in a kimono –

"Chado," he murmured reverently, as he sat beside his brother, "the tea ceremony. Perhaps the only thing I can do better than Kousuke."

"It's far too feminine for me, Yuusuke, you know that. Now, detectives, please. While we give you your answers."

"Honest answers, I hope."

Half-shrugs. Their culture was one that favoured white lies over blunt truth, after all. It was what had indirectly led to their being found out, too.

"Yuusuke and I are brothers, yes. Our parents separated when we were children, though- It wasn't a divorce, because it would've upset _their_ parents… In any case, we were brought up separately, we didn't know… And now you're going to arrest us, I expect?"

"That's not why we're here, but why don't you count that as incentive?"

Quiet sigh, and the younger picked up, taking the documents from his brother to examine and occupy his fidgeting hands. "We actually met quite recently, at our dojo in Japan… We didn't think much of our shared surnames – Yamazaki is quite a common surname – and, well."

"You fell in love."

"…Whichever way you wish to put it, our parents wouldn't have it, of course. Thankfully, we were both past twenty, so we changed our names and came here."

"We heard people here are more lenient. Less judging."

"You heard correctly. We won't be bringing you in, but we _do_ need you to answer a few more questions."

"Regarding?"

"Well, we'd thought your name changes might have some sort of link to the murders…?"

And it would have been beyond insensitive to continue. Both brothers averted their eyes, and Kawasaki replaced the documents on the table.

"We realise how it must look. Four people in our cell group, already, and we're still keeping to our routines… Not to mention we still had _that_ to hide; but now we have nothing that could possibly help you."

"At a point in time, I would've mentioned… Jonathan-san and Randal-san got into a fight… But that's old news by now, huh."

"His parole officer contacted us."

"Expectedly."

"Well, thank you for your time, and for the tea." Stella offered the brothers a smile. "Our condolences, and…"

Mac finished the sentence for her; the words were generic, and not at all what she'd had in mind, but the tone was just about right. "Have a nice day."

Slightly disoriented by the greeting, the Japanese couple barely had the time to bow the detectives out before they were out of the door.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Back from hiatus~ Thanks to all who waiter; hopefully this is still up to standard? ^.^"

Notes:  
Louie getting hospitalized reference to CSI:NY 220, Run Silent, Run Deep.  
Sleeping with Rikki reference to CSI:NY 411, Child's Play.


	11. Chapter 10: Rivelare

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Ten: Rivelare (Revelations Of A Misunderstood Suspect)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"Mac?"

"_No, Sheldon. Mac and Stella will be back soon, though… I – we – heard what happened; you two alright?"_

"…Better than we were last night. Listen, can we come in?"

"_What, to the labs? You know Mac won't like that."_

"We won't make a convincing argument even in person, y'think he'll listen to us over the phone?"

"_Point taken… What argument?"_

"It's about the case. Don't want the others getting harassed when-"

"_It's too late for that, man. Where do you think Mac and Stella went?"_

"Damn."

"_You still want in?"_

"Yeah. Do we _get_ in?"

"_That depends."_ A change in the voice, a little less smooth but equally friendly. _"How are you and Flack feeling right now?"_

"Better, like I said."

"_Than last night? That's not very convincing."_

"Come on, Mac."

Vaguely, in the background, _"They _do_ need some closure, Mac."_

"Stella?"

"_Yeah. Alright, get over here, then. But one sign of-"_

"Got it. Thanks, Mac. See you in ten."

Danny hooked the phone onto its cradle on the kitchenette counter just as Don emerged from the shower. The man, topless with his shirt and blazer folded across his arm, padded up behind him.

"What did Mac say?"

"We're clear."

"Brilliant. Hope they didn't traumatize Yamamoto and Kawasaki or White yet."

"_Un_fortunately…"

Don shook his head, shrugged on his shirt. It was an… interesting… habit of his, that Danny had learned to live with – though he brought all his clothes into the bathroom when he showered, he rarely ever dressed completely before emerging, preferring to put on his top only once out of the enclosed space. Danny had showered earlier, before his partner, and so both of them were ready to leave the house within the minute.

…Outwardly, at least, as they acknowledged on the way to the labs. Inside… Well, there were other things to worry about.

* * *

"Welcome home." Lindsay, with a tentative smile, as she met them at the lobby.

"Yeah. 's good to be home."

Both men flashed her grins, and they entered a lift together – Lindsay didn't let on that she'd been around them long enough to see through them all too easily.

Upstairs, in the familiar surroundings of the meeting room; only Mac of the pair of senior investigators was sitting at the head of the table, waiting for them. Both resident pathologists were also present, however, and comforting smiles – even from the head of the lab – immediately greeted the undercover agents. The reply came in bright _we-don't-need-it_ grins, like those in the lift lobby, and that was that.

"…So, where's Stella?"

"We'll get to that in a moment. Here" – he passed an envelope of documents across the table – "are some… _details_… regarding Yamamoto and Kawasaki's pasts."

Danny accepted it, frowning. "Déjà vu, much?"

"It was _supposed_ to be good news," Sid offered.

Envelope opened, papers pulled out, spread across the table. A moment, as the undercover agents took in the information that had been in headquarters for the past day.

Don pressed his fingers against his temple. "…Bloody hell, Mac. This was supposed to be _good_ news?"

"No," Lindsay cut in, "the good news is that _that_ has nothing to do with the case."

Visible relief, just like during the meeting Hays and McLean had been cleared; then frowns, as they remembered the ultimate result-

"There's more good news, though." Sheldon, absently, who – like Lindsay – had not actually _seen_ the documents and was currently giving them a once over.

"Oh, wow, we can't wait."

Mac shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.. "If you don't want to watch Stella interrogate Herring, that's your call. Or where did you think she was?"

"_Herring_." It was something of a growl, as the Tanglewood boy in Danny raised his hackles. "Just who we wanted to talk to you about."

The animosity in Don's face was only that slight bit milder. "When did you get him in?"

"Barely got him in the interrogation room before you arrived."

"And it's quite obvious to see he's safer in there. Well. There are… bodies… to be processed, so if you'll excuse us."

Sid clicked his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and got up, casting something of an apologetic glance at his undercover colleagues, headed for the door. Sheldon left a few moments after, clapping what he hoped was a reassuring hand on each detective's shoulder.

"Trace for me. Don't kill anyone, boys." With that, Lindsay disappeared as well.

"And I need to look through the preliminary reports, so-"

"We'll show ourselves to the observation room, got it." Don, unable to help the smile at the sense of normalcy that had somehow been restored, despite circumstances.

Danny followed his partner out, though he paused a moment at the door. "Thanks, Mac."

"What for?"

"For not asking."

Silence.

_We know each other well enough, anyway._

Mac didn't even look up as the two grateful detectives headed for the observation room, bravados intact.

* * *

A bare few minutes ago, Stella had just gotten their handcuffed suspect into the chair opposite her, across the simple wooden desk in the interrogation room. She couldn't see through the two-way mirror beside her, but she liked to trust her maternal instincts when they said her expected audience had arrived. She'd kept Herring waiting on edge long enough, anyway.

She was _almost_ accurate. Don and Danny entered the observation room just past the pleasantries of _I think you know why you're here, Herring?_, enough to hear his acidic reply.

"-wondering when you'd come after me. You ridiculous policemen always think those _faggots_ are the ones being discriminated against, and just because I look like _this-_" Herring bared his teeth and the female detective and leant back in his chair, _daring_ her to reply.

Stella merely smiled – just unaffected enough to be menacing. "And here we arranged this to offend your sensibilities the least. If you'd rather a _male_ officer…?"

"Fuck off, bitch."

"My colleague was right; your mouth _is_ foul." She leant forward to make up for the space Herring had put between them by leaning back. "Now, why don't you tell us _why_?"

Already red with anger, the fierce blush on the man's face deepened now with something else and he seemed to retract behind a shell the detectives would never have expected him to have.

"…Herring?" Suddenly cautious, because when suspects reacted like this, they either had something _really_ big to hide, or they had a – usually violent – escape plan.

* * *

Outside, Danny barely refrained from slamming a fist on the glass he and his partner were standing before. "Don't play coy, you _bastard-_"

A calming hand on his shoulder, but the accompanying voice was strained. "Danny."

"Come on, Don. You wanna beat this guy up as much as I do."

"We will." A half-grin. "But you _know_ Stella's about the best with the mind games."

"Women."

* * *

"Bonasera, was it?"

Affirmative nod. "_Detective_ Bonasera, if you don't mind."

Herring shrugged. "I hope I'm not your only suspect, Detective, because this is going to _seriously_ ruin your investigation."

"I'll take that chance."

Deep breath; slow exhale.

"Bloody- I can't believe I'm telling this to a police officer. I suppose you have all my files." He didn't wait for a reply, or even a gesture, just continued as if he needed the momentum to even continue. "It says I'm a businessman, don't it? And the whole reason you came down to ransack my place was because I'm _not_. Well, I am. Was."

"We knew that much."

"Shut up if you wanna hear it," Herring spat, though more out of self-defense – why though? – than in anger.

"Alright, easy there…"

"Used to _love_ the faggots, like you people, too. Until my _boss_ at the office showed me how much of an ass they can be. No pun intended."

* * *

"Does it _look_ like we're laughing?" Danny glared through the glass, almost disappointed his target couldn't see it.

Don rolled his eyes and leant his back against the glass. Enough of whatever story the man was concocting. Enough with whatever excuse, enough with whatever alibi. There was _no _way this man wasn't their culprit.

…And yet…?

* * *

"_Oi, Herring. Boss wants you in his office, a-sap. Can't believe you actually got something _wrong_."_

"_I'm not infallible, Jones."_

"_Yeah, yeah, whatever. Goody-two-shoes Christian that you are, I doubt it. Don't you ever let loose, man?"_

"_I _am_ letting loose. The Lord is all the freedom that I need."_

"_Ah shit, don't give me that. Listen, the rest of the office is going out for a beer tonight, so if you feel like breaking any of those vows just drop by the usual place, yeah?"_

"_Keep wishing, Jones. But thanks anyway."_

_Herring, a little burly to be completely comfortable in his work suit, pushed away from his desk to head for his boss' office. It was spacious, compared to the cubicles he and his fellow workers slogged away in, and the pay this job got him wasn't all that substantial, but he'd be happy with what God gave him and where God put him. Already, some of his less stubborn colleagues had noticed the testimony that was his life, how he never lost his temper, how he _never_ slacked off, _never_ drank, and _still_ kept up such a wonderful family life._

_And he was happy. Perhaps that was what piqued their interest most of all – not many people were happy in the rat race, yet Herring was. Because his eyes were set on something else. Eternity. Some of his colleagues had wanted to taste that peace, that joy, and he'd brought some furtive faces to church a few times… All was well in the Lord's plan, that was what Herring believed in. With all his heart._

_Now then, what did the boss want?

* * *

_

"_Herring. I heard Jones asking you out for a beer tonight?"_

"_Yes, he did, Mr Young. Not that I accepted, but don't be too hard on them either. They need the chance to unwind, after all."_

"_Indeed they do… Now, then, enough with the formalities. All that Mr Young nonsense. I made it quite clear you can call me by my first name, didn't I?"_

"_Well- Yes, G-regory. I only find it… A little inappropriate for the workplace. I don't even call Jones by his first name, after all, and he's just about my best friend here. …No offense."_

"_None taken, Frank. Wouldn't want to tarnish that reputation you have going there."_

"_It's not a reputation, si- Gregory. But you don't appreciate my preaching, do you?"_

"_Mm, no, I don't, not really. In fact, the reason I asked you in here is quite… contrary… to your 'preaching'…"_

_Young rounded his desk – a large, rather grand looking affair, suitable for the manager of the whole floor – to stand before his subordinate. Said subordinate took a step back accordingly, preserving the space between them. A little like an animal about to flee, but then Young had always figured a man with such a perfect track record couldn't be… _normal_…_

"_What do you say to a beer with me, Frank?"_

"…_No, thank you, sir." Clear discomfort. "If that's all, I should get back to work…"_

_The man was shy. How cute. A little pushing was in order, then. "This _is_ work, Frank. Now then, a beer, with me? My treat, and I promise it won't take long."_

"_No, thank you." Firmer now._

_Young frowned. He was handsome by most standards, even a man's – on the feminine side, perhaps, with his lean-lithe build and non-standard-issue brown hair long just to his starched collar. And here he'd thought this would be an easy catch; while pleasant-looking and enough to catch _his_ attention, Herring wasn't exactly model material, after all. He should've been glad someone so above his standard had given him the attention…_

"_I hate to resort to dirty tactics, Frank, but really, you're my type of guy, so."_

"_I don't understand-"_

_A devilish smile. "Sure you do."_

_Confident saunter, until he'd backed his prey into the wall. Herring, for all his bulk, didn't – or wouldn't, as Young thought – fight back, instead allowing himself to be cornered. Shared breathing space._

…_When faced with such situations, there was only one thing to do, wasn't there? So Herring prayed. He shut his surprisingly intimidating boss out, and called out to his Saviour for a way out of this situation, and for a chance yet to rescue this lost soul. For mercy, and-_

_When Young pressed his lips to Herring's – an attempt to be gentle, no doubt, though it didn't work – the man swore in the first time since _forever.

_Herring shoved his boss aside, and the snarl that escaped his lips he simply couldn't control. "What the _hell_, man?"_

_Young stumbled backward, disoriented, but easily regained his footing, both physically and mentally. "It's either this or your job, Frank. Come now, it's an easy decision-"_

Forgive me, Lord, my trespasses against You, as I hope I will eventually forgive this man's against me.

_And Frank Herring punched his boss square in the face, stalked out of the office.

* * *

_

"…I never went back there. I hope the bastard's dead."

Stella blinked, still digesting the account Herring had just shared with her. "…And that's why…?"

"Yeah. I let God down, huh. But back then I figured, if I stopped being so 'good', the kind of thing wouldn't happen again. And before I knew it…"

"You should've reported it. A harassment case."

"It was my way of 'forgiving' him, but I guess it was only superficial."

"…I'm sorry we judged you, Mr Herring."

"Oh, please. You start respecting me _after_ the sob story? Just plain Herring is fine."

"Herring, then."

"Thank you. I hope you believe me now when I say I had _nothing_ to do with the murders."

"…That'll come after I've reported to _my_ boss. But _I _believe you… Sob stories aren't so easy to cook up, after all." Stella offered him a smile.

Surprisingly, Herring returned it. "And once again, I can't believe I just told all that to a police officer."

Stella found herself unlocking the handcuffs around his wrists before she could reason her sympathy away.

"…Thank you."

"Don't thank me."

A somewhat-Catholic detective, and a spiritually-recovering Christian murder suspect. They shared an understanding glance, and Stella nodded to him before exiting the room. Herring sighed, not so much of resignation as relief, and relaxed ever-so-slightly into his chair, gaze turned upward, toward something – Someone – far past the gray ceiling.

* * *

"…I can't. _What_ just _happened_ in there?"

Stella closed the door behind her before Danny's disbelieving remark could reach Herring's ears.

She smiled ruefully at the two undercover detectives. "Hey. You still think he's our guy?"

Don shook his head, equally incredulous. "Come on, Stel. He could easily be lying."

"Easily?"

"…Just lying, then."

Raised eyebrow, pointed look. At both of them.

"But if _he's_ not our guy – and you haven't got Mac down here yet, so _don't_ give us that look, Stella – then who is?"

"You tell me, Danny, you tell me."

"You've ruled out everyone we've suggested and everyone we've not, Stel. What are we supposed to do, pull a white rabbit out of some hat?"

"…Not a rabbit, maybe, but…"

"Haha, Danny. The guy's harmless."

"Have you forgotten all the cases, where-"

"No need for the patronizing tone, Messer. He's your boyfriend, after all. Now, come on, let's leave him in peace for a while. Mac'll want a report."

In the last glance she cast toward the suspect she'd connected with scarily well during the interview, Stella forgot to notice that neither male detective protested against her teasing that afternoon.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Oh dear, I missed another few weeks again. Dreadfully sorry there, and thanks to all who reviewed but to whom I haven't the time to reply. In case you're wondering, I was in Japan. Eheh. Right, that's no excuse, and it's actually Friday where I am now, but let's all be nice and pretend this was a nice and regular Thursday update, yeah? Hopefully it _will_ be regular again, now that I've finally got around to posting. Merry Christmas and hopefully I'll have another chapter up to wish everyone a Happy New Year~ 


	12. Chapter 11: Uno

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Eleven: Uno (And Then There Was One)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

Stella, Danny, and Don stood before Mac's desk in his office a bare five minutes after they left the observation and interrogation rooms respectively. He sat opposite them, preliminary reports from the autopsy room still freshly-read on his desk. He had been waiting on the full reports from Sheldon and Sid focusing their energy on the two newest victims – …victims… – while turning over a few leads over again in his head, but _this_ was certainly an interesting turn in the investigation. Sadly –

"Even I can't tell you straight off if his story is reliable, you know that."

Don smirked, though it looked more like he was baring non-existent fangs. "Then there's only one way to do this."

"…No, we're _not_ sending you in. It's already enough of a risk letting you back in the labs."

"And if we get seen, blah, blah, blah." Danny rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

"If anyone asks, you came to visit Hays and McLean's bodies one last time."

"Got it," came the reply, before Don could protest, "it's Wednesday today, anyway."

Stella flashed the two undercover agents a maternal smile. "There's a good boy, Danny. Don?"

"As long as you don't start pulling out the dog treats, fine." Resignation hid behind exasperation, and genuine exhaustion hidden behind _that_, but his colleagues let it slide.

"You two leave Herring's boss to us; go and pull off a convincing tea party."

* * *

"A tea party, huh."

Absent shrug from beside Don, as he and his partner took the walk back to their apartment.

"Well, a tea party's gotta have food, right? We finished all the beer last night."

"Beer en't food, Don." But he changed course with the taller man, and now they were heading to the nearest supermarket.

"Says the one who lives off it."

"I don't! Not _often_."

Laughs, that rang slightly hollow as they remembered the pair who would be absent from tonight's meeting.

They should get over it; it was interfering with their work. They could mourn after all this was well and _over_, after they didn't have to live together anymore, and after Dominick Flynn and Deyon Marx disappeared off the face of the earth. After the vague warmth at the back of their minds had faded back into brotherly affection as it had been, and as it should always be – the mission was just screwing slightly with their emotional boundaries. Living together with a person and going undercover as a couple did that, didn't it?

They kept their eyes resolutely away from each other's, preferring to look straight ahead even as they subconsciously walked a _little_ closer beside each other.

* * *

"This… should be the place."

Stella had had Adam search out the website of Herring's company, then had had a map and an image of its office front printed out. It was to these two sheets of paper that she referred to now, and true enough, this was the place. The archery range had been much easier to find; after all, despite its slightly more removed location, it was a unique wood-and-paper traditional Japanese affair – this building was simply another tinted glass tower in a town full of them.

"Impressive," Mac commented absently, and they entered through the automated sliding front doors.

His partner refrained from reminding him that she _knew_ they both couldn't care less about appearances or airs. He knew that, too; it was a habit he had, for the benefit of any more… politically-oriented… co-workers or witnesses. Up the lift, and straight for the receptionist's counter, gaze barely drifting from elegant minimalist black surface to elegant minimalist white surface.

"Hi," Stella started, despite the formal atmosphere, "We're here to see a Mr. Gregory Young?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Sadly, no."

"I'm sorry, you can't see Mr. Young without an appointment. He's a busy man."

"Oh, we were hoping this" – flash of Stella's smile along with Mac's badge beside her – "would suffice."

The receptionist, dressed in a starched white blouse over her dark-gray pencil skirt, dissolved from her stiffer-than-an-angry-Mac attitude to a flustered guilty suspect within the second. She dialed up the intercom, and after announcing their presence, she led them through the main area, populated mainly by employees' cubicles, to a personal office at the back of the floor. The glass door was frosted in two stripes at eye level, bordering text – also frosted – that read "Gregory Young".

"I apologize for my attitude, officers… This way, _please_."

The characteristic sound of glass as she knocked on the door, then stood aside to let them in. She returned to her post, and Mac and Stella found themselves in the office Herring had neglected to describe in favour of more… important… events that had happened. The floor was carpeted an understated gray, and the walls opposite the door and adjacent weren't so much walls as windows that looked out onto the street. The last wall was lined with shelves that were themselves lined with books, and there was a potted plant up to about chest-height in the corner.

All in all, a generic but relatively tasteful office. In the middle, was a large mahogany desk, designed suitably to impress, that may or may not have been real mahogany, but neither detective was very interested in that. Instead, they focused their attention on the man sitting behind the desk; as Herring _had_ described, this time, his build was rather lighter and smaller than most, and his hair was as long as his management privileges allowed. He stood to greet the officers, rounding his desk and extending a hand to shake.

"Officers."

Stella declined, holding her ground. "Mr. Young."

Mac smiled inwardly at his partner's childishness, accepted cordially but stoically. "Mr. Young. I am Detective Mac Taylor; this is Detective Stella Bonasera. We're here to investigate a harassment case filed by one of your ex-subordinates."

Thinking back to their encounter with the Yamazaki brothers, the female detective recalled her impression of the younger Yamazaki. Slender and graceful, he had brought up the image of a geisha during a sacred tea ceremony. The man she was watching disdainfully now left no such notion of elegance or poise; perhaps it was that Americans simply _didn't _have the genes for it, but if she summed him up in one word, it was definitely not one applicable to most of the American population: _snake_.

She easily hid her most of her disapproval from Young, but her partner caught it, and she could have sworn the edge of his lip twitched upward.

Young paled. "Might I ask _which_ ex-subordinate?"

"I'm afraid we can't tell you that."

"Although it seems you already have someone in mind."

"N-o one, of course. I don't harass my subordinates."

"…We didn't say the harassment charge was against _you_, Mr. Young." Smirk on the male detectives face that would have made a murder's blood run cold.

Stella gladly played along. "Now, _what_ could have given you _that_ idea?"

As Young's already light complexion paled even further, it vaguely occurred to the detectives that _maybe_, just _maybe_, they were being a _tad_ vindictive. The moment passed, mostly due to Young being so obviously guilty – if there was anything the police force could agree on, it was that harassment that sort was second only to murder or manslaughter. Originally intending to get a search warrant just in case, Stella had ended up with an arrest warrant as well – and she was glad that she had.

"I- Look, the man was _asking_ for it. You should be going after him, instead. He _attacked_ me." Voice slightly lower, slightly smoother.

_So Herring wasn't lying. _Stella had to admit, though, the man had charisma when he needed it.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Gregory Young, you are under arrest for the harassment of a subordinate and using intimidation tactics on said subordinate with intention to exploit.

"_Damn it_, aren't Christians supposed to be fucking _forgiving_ or something?"

A sharp jerk, along with handcuffs. "You have the right to remain _silent_."

* * *

As they escorted Young out of his office and across the main floor, nearly every head turned to watch – and not all of them were of simple shock. One in particular allowed his hackles to rise and it was evident in the sneer on his face. Frowning, Mac left their suspect to Stella with instructions to get him to the car first, while he stopped to talk to the man, who'd caught his gaze and was already walking over.

"Detective Mac Taylor," Mac greeted, showing his badge-

"Matthew Jones. I'd say it's nice to meet you, officer, but _honestly_? It's nicer to see that bastard getting what he deserves."

They headed for the less crowded reception area, Jones actually taking a slight lead. The man was certainly very blunt; Mac figured he should be able to get some information out of him – a witness' testimony, perhaps, for this arrest, and hadn't Stella mentioned a Jones from Herring's account?

"Oh, wait, I know what you're thinking." Jones grinned. "Yeah, I'm Frank's best mate from around here. He told me not to report the boss so I didn't, but looks like he went and got it done on his own, huh."

"…Not exactly. This came up as a side investigation in relation to a more major case we're working."

"And why would it- Oh. Look, the man _may_ be like this _now_, but he wouldn't hurt a fly, you gotta trust me-"

"We already know that much, Mr. Jones-"

"Just Jones is fine, man. Anyway, it's good that you know that; for a moment there I thought you'd mixed him up with that White fella' from his church."

"I'm sorry, White?"

"White. Don't know his first name. Ever since the bastard you just took away got at Frank, he changed a lot, y'know? So we go out drinking every Thursday now, and there's this time he told me about a guy called White down at his church. Said it was like all the 'goodness' was getting sapped out of him and transferred to the other guy, like. He shut up after that, though. Good guy. Still don't like badmouthing people, and his swearing _still_ sounds fake after all this time."

Outwardly appearing thoughtfully quiet, Mac was honestly speechless. Perhaps least important, yet the first thing his mind was feeding him, was that the man standing opposite him was _very_ direct, even more so than he'd expected at first. Second, was that Jones considered Herring's swearing unconvincing; he thrust both thought trails aside for the crucial one: the information was good, and… Thursday nights… Wasn't the first time of death a Thursday night?

"_Every_ Thursday night?"

"_Every_ Thursday night. You have no idea how hard it was to get him to come drinking at all, but now he has, he's pretty good company."

"What time do you usually meet?"

"It depends? I knock off at six-thirty, so it's dinner with the family, and I meet him at our usual place at about… eight? He starts feeling guilty at about ten, but me and his wife usually manage to keep him out until midnight. He needs the break, trust me."

An unlikely alibi. "Thank you for your co-operation, Jones. The department may contact you soon-"

"No problem, detective. Anything for a friend. But do me a favour and make sure Young gets what he deserves, yeah?"

A nod, and mutual respect between the two men despite their day-night personalities and backgrounds; Mac headed for the lift to catch up with his partner and Jones returned to the office floor that was currently in something of a celebratory uproar.

* * *

Suave in the meeting room and even charming when he needed to be, Young was still unsurprisingly quiet in the back of Mac and Stella's civilian vehicle. The detectives also refrained from discussing any case details, though Stella was half-dying for news from the impromptu interview that'd happened in her absence – she could just _sense_ it in her partner's demeanor that he'd hit gold. Or a very good lead.

The drive was uneventful, as such, and they handed Young off to a uniform officer at the precinct before returning to the interrogation room at their own headquarters.

* * *

"We got Young."

Herring, deep in thought and not having noticed the detectives' entrance, started at the sound of Stella's voice. "Beg pardon?"

"We got Gregory Young, on harassment charges, and he's at the precinct right now." Slowly, with a hint of a smile in her voice.

"…O-oh. Go easy on him, I guess. I didn't think you'd actually go get him…"

"Go _easy_ on him?" _Just how much can a guy change in a few hours?_

"I _guess_. I've been thinking, while you were out, and I figure I've been throwing my life away these few months; I don't want to disappoint God any longer…" He noticed the second officer as they rounded the table to sit across from him. "I'm sorry, Detective…?"

"Mac Taylor. We just obtained an alibi for you, from a Matthew Jones?"

"Ah. Matt. I should've told you that from the start, huh. But I'm not proud that I drink so regularly now… It's on Thursday nights, and I usually stay out past any respectable hour."

_A lot, apparently._ Mac folded his arms. "He also mentioned something about a White from your church."

"Trust the dolt to spill everything." But it was rather affectionate than angry; his tone only morphed to seriousness when he continued. "It's Moses White, from the cell group Howard, Gray, Hays, and McLean are from."

Stella's eyes widened in surprise. Mac had mentioned White, but neither of them had expected… "What about him?"

A wry smile. "You could say we switched personalities, even. He used to be a radical, and a violent one, too. But at about the same time I started to go haywire, he got inspiration from the Spirit, and, well, you see where he is now. I suppose I told Matt while I was drunk; I _hope _I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise."

"…Thank you, Herring. You're free to go, but try and stay in town for a while."

"Still not off the suspect list, am I?"

"On the contrary; but having you on the witness stand will prove to be convincing."

"If ever," the man retorted, an actually genial smile on his lips, "thank _you_, Stella Bonasera. And it was nice meeting you, Detective Taylor."

He got up and left, but both detectives could just barely here his whispered prayers of thanksgiving as he walked out the door.

* * *

So they'd saved a soul, in a way. But there was rising panic about White, who seemed more and more like a possible suspect – inspiration from the Holy Spirit or no. It wouldn't _require_ a meeting with the other CSIs, but Mac and Stella knew they would feel much more at ease after a conference; they split up, Mac to pathology and Stella to trace, to gather their colleagues.

* * *

Back at their apartment with arms full of groceries – and thankfully ample time for Danny to cook them – the undercover agents were surprised to find one of their cell group mates already at their door. White, still dressed in his carpenter's simple clothes, turned to greet them with a smile as they neared. They immediately slipped into what could've been called "couple-mode", naturally adjusting within each other's space to give just _that_ impression.

"I was wondering if this was the right address. How are you two today?"

"Great, thanks, White. Me and Dey were just getting the ingredients for tonight's dinner. You don't know it, but he's a great cook."

"And Dom is hopeless in the kitchen, trust me." Couple talk. Couple talk. "What brings you here so early? Cell group isn't for another few hours."

"I was in the area, and I don't have any more jobs for today, so I figured I'd drop by and give a hand."

"Nice of you. Come in."

And Don placed one of the bags he was carrying on the floor to unlock the apartment door, and they entered.


	13. Chapter 12: Cena

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Twelve: Cena (Dinner With The Devil )_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

Just as Don and Danny ducked into the kitchen – White reluctantly allowing himself to play guest in the living room only after their repeated entreaties – both their cell phones buzzed. Shared apprehension; usually such synchronization indicated an urgent broadcast from headquarters. Danny steeled his nerves and set himself to unpacking the groceries on the counter, leaving his partner to check his phone. Which he did, nonchalantly backing himself against the kitchen wall just in case White walked in, just in case White could miraculously see them through the wall. Vaguely, both agents lamented that they'd been undercover too damn long – enough that paranoia was setting in, and if they weren't careful, it would become a permanent thing, and –

_New suspect: Moses White. Be very careful._

Short, but not so sweet. The men glanced up at the same time, and Danny's eyebrows knit together at the anxiety he saw in his partner's eyes. Don padded over, slipped his hands around Danny's waist. The almost unnoticeable split-second when he stiffened, then relaxed into the embrace. Relaxed, nervous. Convincing – too real. Don forced himself to remain as he was, dipping his head slightly to whisper in Danny's ear.

"_Mac. New suspect, and he's sitting in our living room."_

Footsteps. "You two are _awfully_ quiet, you know."

Just in _case_- Don pulled away, flustered yet calm enough to be the lover caught in the act, as White appeared around the doorway. Thank… God? …for paranoia. It had only been, what, a few hours ago, that Danny had half-seriously suggested the possibility. Not a white rabbit, but _White_. And now that they'd been warned, that the sarcastic laugh he'd returned had become a reality, they noticed the disapproving frown that passed the other man's face. Short; and they would've assumed it was because of the display of affection despite the presence of a guest – surely it offended _some _Christian sensibility – but. What if?

"…I _see_."A broad grin quickly replaced the frown, now. Newly biased, neither agents could keep their suspicions down; yet this wasn't a time for discussions.

"Sorry you had to see that," Danny – Deyon, now – mirrored the grin as he replied.

"Oh, no, it's perfectly alright. Although, since I'm already here, perhaps I should lend a hand?"

"That's horrible host etiquette, White. We can't let you help in the kitchen." Don, already heading to steer White _genially_ out to the living room.

"You win again, Dominick. By the way, Yamamoto and Kawasaki called, they won't be coming tonight. Some sort of obligation."

"Sure."

The man carefully avoided his touch and left the doorway on his own. Or, that could be the newfound hyper-awareness talking. Don avoided a sigh, and proceeded to help – _attempt_ to help, mostly by just standing passively at the counter – Danny with preparing the now unpacked groceries. Beef, rosemary, potatoes, etcetera. They were in for quite the meal tonight, it appeared. And then, maybe not _just _a meal.

A significant look from his partner. "Prime rib, tonight."

A shrug. "I'm on set up duty, I take it?"

"I obviously don't want you _here_."

"Right. Be careful."

"As if it's my first time cooking, Dom. Go entertain our guest, or something. 'll call you when I'm done."

Shrugging, Don pushed off the counter and left the CSI to his surprising forte. The exchange should have been convincing enough; even if White _had_ overheard anything, it would've just been a couple, an affectionate argument. And as he padded into the living room, sheepish shrug at White ("The kitchen's his territory, you know?") the detective slipped his hand into his pocket, speed-dialed the CSI headquarters.

* * *

You could call it a code, Danny figured, as he sliced the beef into steaks for the pan, if an impromptu one. All the CSIs – plus detective – knew each other well enough to interpret hidden meanings; sometimes it went wrong, and there were misunderstandings that ended more-than-laughably, but this was serious, and he hoped Don had gotten the message, clear.

_A suspect. Prime suspect?_

_Maybe. Do I set up a bug?_

_Might as well. It's on _your_ bill._

_Be careful._

_You too.

* * *

_

Inconspicuous. Just another Wednesday evening, albeit earlier than usual, just another cell group meeting. Don – Dominick – had a mundane conversation with White, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd set up the bug for nothing. It would kill his phone bill, for one, and waste the other CSIs' time. He didn't even know who was on the other end, but whoever it was, they could've been solving another case, closing another –

"You've been asking a lot about your sexuality tonight, Dominick. That's good. I've actually been praying, and _I_ wanted to talk to you about it. Thank the Lord we're on the same page!"

A split-second pause, then a nod that hopefully belied the agent's uneasiness.

"So… What do _you_ think of it all?"

"I'm sorry to say I don't have a proper answer for you, man."

"That's alright, perfectly alright. The Lord gives inspiration on His own time, not ours. But let's just discuss it, shall we? Jonathan and Logan hit a bit of a… conflict, shall we say? They weren't sure in either their faith or their love, couldn't choose, nor find the balance, and… _that_ happened before they could resolve it."

Don nodded mutely as White offered a smile. This was dangerous ground; either of them could slip up, and it would be game over before it should be-

"Or Randal and Timothy? So sure of their love, so sure it was right. And love like that, it _is_ beautiful, isn't it, Dominick? It's _exactly_ the kind of love the Lord would have us show, that unconditional love that looked past criminal records and character defects. That brings two completely different people – and you have to admit they _were_ different – together, and keeps them together in the Lord."

Pause, but White seemed content with his monologue.

"What about Kousuke and Yuusuke? They're Japanese, so their culture carries over into their perception of both the Bible and their relationship. Very _private_ people, and quiet. You noticed that, I expect? Even _I_ can't get them to open up, but I heard you and Deyon get along pretty well with them… Maybe you two will be just what they need. Support, you know."

"Support." Another nod. Affirmative.

* * *

"Support", Stella echoed, frowning.

She'd requested that Mac let her be on watch duty; the rest of the lab was attending to the not-so-everyday cases that plagued the city. Then, as she'd listened to the slightly muffled audio, images of the four corpses – already considered such a _high_ body count… - they'd dealt with so far had crossed her mind as White mentioned them. And how nonchalantly, too. Don and Danny had originally attributed it to a deep-rooted faith, the belief that all of them were now in a better place, but…

Howard and Gray, of whom she'd known absolutely nothing, except what the autopsy reports had revealed. Hays and McLean, the austere ex-convict and the spitfire-livewire… Barely more, just the addition of Don and Danny's reports to the later autopsies. Now, the Yamazakis, from the archery range and then their own home. And in those familiar environments, she'd seen more. They didn't need _support_; they were entwined in each other, self-sufficient. The way White had said "Japanese", it'd sounded so _negative_ – but now when the word crossed her mind, she was thinking of the samurai, the warriors with their loyalty to the death. The geisha, the chado, the archery.

They were _people_, as their cell group mates had been, and it flashed across Stella's mind – as it did, on occasion – just how much of a monster it would take to go after their fellow humans. Their brothers. Sisters.

A man, possibly that very monster, was in the same apartment, _alone_, with two of her agents.

* * *

"You guys hungry?"

"Y'think?"

"Then help me set the table, genius."

Don rolled his eyes, left White on the sofa as he padded into the kitchen past Danny to retrieve three sets of utensils. Déjà vu, as he vaguely recalled conversations about the utensils at the first crime scene – three sets of utensils, two sets of prints. Would they make a mistake and end up like that, too? Was White even the man they were looking for? Didn't matter. He resolved silently to protect his partner – even _if_ said partner was perfectly capable of protecting himself.

* * *

"Smells wonderful, Deyon. Dominick wasn't kidding when he said you were a good cook."

Danny smiled, and replied just as Deyon Marx would. "Thanks, White. Praise the Lord that he gave me the skill."

"Indeed. You should bring some of this down to the church potlucks sometime. I'm sure it'll be a big hit."

"I'll do my best."

"Shall we pray?"

Both detectives bowed their heads automatically; they'd grown up with those three words, and regardless of whether or not they still believed in them, the habit had remained.

"Dearest Father in Heaven, we thank You for this dinner, and that we may be here tonight, together, in Your presence. We pray to thank You for Deyon's skill in cooking and that he will have an opportunity to share his gift with the rest of the church. We also pray for Kousuke and Yuusuke, that You will be with them, and that You will nourish our bodies with this meal. Amen."

"Amen."

They ate silently for a while, before White easily continued the conversation he'd been having earlier with "Dominick".

"So, Deyon, Dominick and I were just having quite the interesting discussion while you were cooking. I do still feel bad about letting you tend to dinner all on your own, and I'm sure he does, too, so why not let's make it up to you – you can start the discussion. What do you think of homosexuality?"

A single blink, and again, as Danny scrambled for an appropriate answer where none were available. When even Danny Messer wasn't sure about his own answer, how could he generate what an alter ego would think? To say that it was wrong and against the Bible would be to condemn his own existence; on the other hand, to say that love trumped all, even between homosexuals, might upset something in White's psyche. In his own psyche.

"I don't think he's thought about it so deeply, either." A chuckle, and Dominick turned to his "boyfriend". "Have you, Deyon?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm sure White's more qualified to lead, anyway?"

"…Yes, I am, I suppose. Would you like to hear it? I should warn you, you may not like it."

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

White smiled. "I thought so, too. To tell the truth, _my _take, is that homosexuality is wrong. I hope you don't take offense?"

"Nope, not at all." Feigned nonchalance to cover his own and his partner's high alert. Don waved his hand casually. _Go on._

"Now, I have nothing against you in _person_; you're my brothers in Christ. It's merely that your sexuality is against the Bible, and hence a sin."

He stood, his steak still only half-finished, and retrieved his toolbox. Opened it. The moment his hands disappeared behind the opaque plastic lid, both detectives set their cutlery down, tensing and preparing themselves to dash for their weapons in the bedroom.

"I was planning to wait until later, but the Lord's plans _are_ on His own time, aren't they?"

A click that most civilians wouldn't have been able to identify. Then again, Dominick Flynn and Deyon Marx were not civilians; still, before Don – who was seated slightly closer to the bedroom – could move, White had whipped a semi-automatic pistol out from his toolbox, and leveled it at Danny.

"_My_ take on homosexuality, boys, is that it is _wrong_. But that can be rectified, because the Lord is merciful."

And it was at this point in time that Don and Danny, horrified, realized that with an audio bug, you can't tell if a person's holding a gun at your comrade's head.


	14. Chapter 13: Tardi

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Thirteen: Tardi (Too Little-)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

Danny had stared down the barrel of a gun in his face many times, by now – once, in particular, during that hostage situation with Adam, and multiple unpleasant times against Shane Casey. Both cases, bravado had saved him; he hoped it would save him now. Gaze unfaltering, locking eyes with the man he and his partner had previously assumed to be harmless, but now held them at gunpoint.

…_because the Lord is merciful._ White's words hung in the air, words of hope that had somehow twisted into a threat worthy of the most unprincipled murderer.

"White…? Why don't you… put… the gun… down…" Slowly, calmly. "You don't have to do this…"

Gun. Please let Mac or whoever else was listening in catch the word. Danny could feel, more than see, Don shifting beside him, edging moment by painstaking moment in his peripheral vision; so long as White was trained on himself, his partner would probably be able to make it –

Sudden movement.

In the split second it took for them to realize that no, White had _not _just put a bullet through Danny's head, Don froze up, rather than dashed for the bedroom, and it was lucky he did. White had let his gun slack in his hand instead of firing it, and now there was a patronizing smile on his face, rather than the cruel one before it. So there was no need to panic, Danny was _fine_ (for now-), and Dominick Flynn should just play along – afraid, of course, but without experience enough to overcome his initial shock just yet.

"You're right, Deyon." But he didn't put the gun down. "The Lord doesn't condone violence… But I believe I've made my point."

_The point that you're a manic serial killer?_

Danny glanced over at Don in time to see his partner's eyes narrow with scorn.

"_Please_, sit."

* * *

"G-un. Gun?"

Adam blinked for a moment, fumbling with the concept. It was a delay that would've normally cost an agent his or her life – if White had been any more volatile than he was, the one undercover CSI would have- But the lab technician didn't know that; moment over, he'd just left Danny and Don exposed to danger just that much longer. He scrambled from his seat before the phone, rounded the glass doorway.

"_S-Stella!_" As loud as he could, yet as soft as he could, remembering that the impromptu bug worked both ways.

The senior agent came running, and he didn't spare her the time to breathe before relaying the information.

"G-gun. White's armed-"

Stella forced herself to keep cool at the news. It wouldn't do for them to _both_ be mad with fear. "Adam."

"We- we gotta move." He gestured vaguely, panicking. "We-"

"_Adam!_"

Gush of exhale. "- Yes, Stella."

"Mac and I'll head down. You just… keep cool, and keep us updated, alright?"

"A-alright- got it." He nodded, reassured with the instructions, and gingerly sat himself back down before the phone. Concentration.

Stella shook her head, affording herself a small smile before she took off back down the corridor. No matter how long Adam had been with them, he was still the most childish of the whole lab, insecure and easily upset. But she didn't have the time for such thoughts right now – she breezed past the trace lab, leaving Sheldon and Lindsay anxious within it, and into her partner's office.

"Mac."

The head investigator looked up, eyes piercing and almost predictive.

"We have a situation." _Don and Danny-_

"Let's go."

* * *

Wary of the gun their assailant still toyed with in his hand, Don and Danny obeyed his instructions, and now all three of them were sitting at the dining table. As if nothing had happened. Danny found himself actually wondering if the steak knives would make for sufficient self-defense, but quickly pushed that idea out of his mind. White leant back in his chair, eyes warm yet sharp drilling into them as he spoke.

"Leviticus eighteen, verse twenty-two. Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman; that is detestable." Quote.

"Leviticus twenty, verse thirteen. If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads." Quote.

"Romans one-twenty-seven, In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error. First Corinthians six-nine to -ten, Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who have sex with men nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God." Quote, and quote again.

_Also_, Danny muttered inwardly, _thou shalt not commit _murder_, I-don't-remember-the-reference, you hypocritical bastard._

Beside him, Don unknowingly agreed. _Who the hell memorizes the Bible like that just to walk all over the rest of it?_

White didn't hear their thoughts; instead, he continued, "Need I mention Sodom and Gomorrah? Genesis, eighteen and nineteen."

"We know those verses, White." Unspoken _your point?_ replaced by "Not a day goes by we don't pray-"

"For forgiveness, am I right?" Patronizing again, the smile of a messiah-complex. "Well, it's here."

Danny bristled silently, biting back a venomous retort – it would only incite the man - but. _This_ was _forgiveness_ that had taken four lives, that could've been happy and – since it mattered to them, at least – good in the eyes of the Lord? And now the man was going to vent his psychosis on him and Don –

"The Lord explicitly forbade homosexuality, and yet here you are… It doesn't matter if you're struggling to come to terms with it and balance the Lord's will with your own interests." Howard and Gray. "It doesn't matter if you've come to terms with it and blindly decided your own interests _are_ the Lord's will." Hays and McLean. White was trampling over the memory of his victims, and he wasn't done…

"It doesn't matter if you've decided to make it your own affair, separate from the Lord's will." The Yamazaki brothers. "All their thinking was wrong in one way – it is _not_ the Lord's will. Having romantic relations with another man is _wrong_, having _sexual_ relations with another man is _worse_. …Rejecting the angel of justice bringing judgment is perhaps the worst, but" – he closed his grip on his pistol again, taking casual aim at Don and then Danny again – "I don't think we'll have that problem."

He cocked the gun.

* * *

"Wire us in, Adam."

"You got it, boss."

The car's intercom buzzed with static for a short moment, and then Mac and Stella were listening to a phone-muted rendition of White's… sermon, if anyone would call it that. One side of the argument, nothing but empty words using the Bible as a basis for bigoted views. If ever he had to meet Mac in a formal debate, the CSI would grind his face in the dust, and then some.

Stella tensed. "Wait. Did you hear that?"

"Yeah. A few seconds back. Clean up the track, Adam."

"Got it. …Cleaning up…" Short crackle as the tech switched the input from the phone to his computer terminal.

Silence. Soft click.

"There-"

"Should I run a sound analysis-"

"No need, Adam." Mac's eyes narrowed, and he switched the siren on, discretion be damned. "That's the gun."

Stella paled. She and Mac moved as efficiently as possible, earlier, Kevlar vests, badges and holsters all slung on in a routine they'd practiced perhaps too many times. And they'd left in as much of a hurry, with quick instructions to the other CSIs – including Sid, worried out of Pathology – to keep on whatever work they had been doing. Adam, already wiring the phone with a double output (one for the room, and one for the car) as well as the intercom's home module to a dual input of a microphone and said phone. But whatever time they'd saved, it didn't feel like enough.

_That's the gun._ At least it hadn't been a shot.

* * *

White all but herded the two undercover agents away from the dinner table, toward the bedroom. On one hand – good, they would be that much closer to the gun, to evening the stakes out. After all, when faced with an equal threat, criminals lost their blind self-confidence; not to mention, they were betting on their gunmanship being better, their reflexes faster, than his.

On the other hand, he easily swiped his toolbox off the floor, and the only tool they could see in it was a hammer. Accompanied by blocks that looked too much like stakes for comfort. Before either could get a good look, though, he had shifted behind them; still, as they cleared the doorway, Don realized what the bedroom had that the rest of the apartment didn't – a clear wall.

Completely empty, devoid of artwork or lights or furniture backed against it. They'd never thought of it as a design flaw, but now –

White backed them both against the wall, eyes glinting. "I am the angel of justice come to deliver righteous judgment. Repent and accept your judgment; the Lord will accept you with mercy!"

Danny's voice took on an edge of derision to match the mania in the man's. "What would you have us do?"

As if he hadn't noticed the underlying snarl. "Raise your arms in the image of the Lamb of God and be cleansed!"

The gun was cocked, and the man was well and truly in a homicidal frame of mind now. He swapped aim between Don and Danny, his smile somehow still sickeningly benevolent. A twisted preacher in his pulpit, so sure that his congregation of two were incorrigible sinners, and that he was nothing short of an ordained saint. The agents carefully blanked their eyes of defiance, veiling their tense notice of his every small movement with feigned uncertainty, and raised their arms.

Ridiculous. They _were_ uncertain. Wary. Afraid. And yet, their jobs demanded it be fake, as if they could be absolutely cool even in the face of this kind of danger to their lives – to each other's lives. (Scarily, it was the latter that affected them more-)

White holstered the gun in his pocket – it showed how little experience he had with guns – and dropped his toolbox beside himself. As they'd guessed; his hands emerged from rummaging within the box with a stake in one and the hammer in the other. The manic glint in his eyes brightening. His attention centered on Don, now – it was only fair, the detective figured, considering his partner had already taken _his_ chance, earlier. Now, if Danny would only go for the gun… It didn't matter which – his own, Don's, or White's, just –

Ah. He did his best to ignore the man – now _undeniably_ their murderer – closing in, but the instinctive firing in his nerves as the stake neared his wrist. _That_, he couldn't ignore. But he could hold his own, even _if_ it went through his hand- (shit, he could already feel it-) _Danno, move it!

* * *

_

Danny made painful choices… quite regularly, he'd say. His brother, the hostage situations, hell, even back when he broke his wrist and had to give up on baseball when he was a _kid_. But never, _ever_, had he needed to make a deliberate choice regarding his partner. Always, they would be rushing, chasing, split seconds that went by too fast to think of _yes_ or _no_, _why_ or _why not_.

Now, it felt too long, too damn long, and the stakes were too damn high to just snap his fingers and decide. White was enjoying himself ridding the world of evil, Don was _telling_ him to get the damned gun, and he had the _chance_, but if he screwed up, the stake would be through his wrist in no time at _all_-

Time up.

The sound of the main door violently crashing to the floor.

"NYPD! Freeze!"

Mac's voice. Familiar. It should have been comforting, but in his shock, White's hand was dropping fast, too fast, now; Danny had all of a split second to stop the hammer from driving the stake through his partner's wrist. Impulse. Something he could handle.

Pulse. Danny lunged, as Mac and Stella rounded the doorway, and Don's blue eyes cleared to the sky they should've never faded from.

Pulse. White dropped stake and hammer in favour of drawing his gun and whipping around.

Pulse. Don dodging forward, getting White in a chokehold, tightening.

Pulse. A muted thud-bang.

That single sound that broke through his mental barriers that seemed to disrupt the flow of time around him. Mac and Stella were on either side of him, a flank formation in synchronization perfected over years of working together; Don was tightening his forearms around White's neck, cutting off blood and air supply. The criminal – yes, _criminal_ – was still struggling, but he was turning blue, slowly but surely suffocating.

"Keep back, Danny."

Again in sync, the two senior-most detectives moved up, Mac cautiously taking the gun from White's hand, Stella kicking the hammer and stake to the side. Their standard issue guns still trained on him. Situation in control. Complete standstill.

…Winding down, now. Don looked strangely anxious, eyes widened and sky-blue shining with worry even as he passed White – only half-conscious and hence pleasantly docile – off to Mac, and Stella pulled a pair of handcuffs from her belt to restrain him. Gaze trained on Danny. What? _What?_ Numb ache in his left chest. He raised his hand, feeling for the ache along his chest. Warmth, and a liquid darkness dyeing his fingers. He pulled his hand away from it, brought it before his eyes.

Pulse.

As Danny registered the blood on his hands, so his body registered the bullet wound through-and-through his torso, and – at best – his lungs. Pain screaming up his spine, now; worse, even, than the time that gang had crushed his fingers –

Pulse.

"_Danno-_"

Pulse.

* * *

The two CSIs and their resident detective watched in horror as Danny crashed to the ground. Don could've sworn he heard more than one sickening cracks from the impact, and he was immediately beside his partner, pulling his limp body into his arms and getting up. Bridal style; it would've been laughable, what with the lab's latest round of in-jokes, except the in-jokes never included either one of them being shot through the chest.

"Ambulance's on standby," Stella offered, and he was out the door.

White, seemingly recovered, jerked his cuffed hands from Mac and moved away. "…So, they were with the cops all along, huh."

A disarmed threat – the detectives saw there was no need to restrain him beyond the handcuffs and let him be.

"You condone it, then? Homosexuality?" He shook his head. "Sinners are not only those who do, but those who condone-"

Stella all but bared her teeth at him. "Moses White, you are hereby under arrest for the murders of Jonathan Howard, Logan Gray, Randal Hays, and Timothy McLean, as well as the attempted murder of – as you know them – Dominick Flynn and Deyon Marx. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

"I abide by no laws and require no rights but those the Lord, my God, has given me. But know this: I am innocent in carrying out His will."

Mac had been coldly silent up till now, but that this man would still invoke his God's name –

"I'm no god, White, but I _will _make sure you never see the light of day for the rest of your life. And your _God_, will see you burn in _hell_."

* * *

Author's Note:  
To everyone who's reviewed, thank you very much, and I apologize for not having the time to reply to your reviews. Especially to everyone who's been clawing at me to update: I really _am_ sorry for leaving you guys hanging like that; I hope this chapter is up to standard and makes up for it! ^.^" Also: to anyone who thinks I'm trampling all over the Bible and God, and has still read all the way up till here - I don't _mean_ to, so no offense meant and I hope no offense taken.

Notes:  
Hostage situation with Adam reference from CSI:NY 324, Snow Day.  
Shane Casey reference from CSI:NY 304, Hung Out To Dry, and a few others.


	15. Chapter 14: Ospedale

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Fourteen: Ospedale (White Walls Used To Be Soothing)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

Pulse.

* * *

"So, you want to know why."

"We don't have to; we have enough evidence to send you to prison for life as it is. But yes, if you want to be civil about it, we would like to know."

Again, Stella was the one who took the interview, with Mac already called out to a new scene, Sid tied up in Pathology and Sheldon and Lindsay in Trace. Danny was in intensive care, and Don's mind flickered to the image of his partner hooked up to more tubes than he could count, so he was here, on this side of the glass, trying to keep his mind on more productive things. Like – not getting in there and just- Like not obsessively worrying over his partner.

"Alright, since you ask so _nicely_, Detective Bonasera. You want to know why, and you want to know how. Gladly, gladly. In the Lord's name, that you may know His plan and power, gladly, gladly."

Don snarled and turned away from the window. Paced. Listened.

"Jonathan Howard."

The detective blinked. One of the first two victims? _What?_

"He's the reason for all of this. While we were in school – yes, the same school, though, mind you, different years – he had a moment of folly. I, the ever-responsible senior, had noticed this _lost_ youth, and how he was slowly but surely turning into a homosexual. And I tried to show him the error of his ways, shall we say…" White shook his head, an almost sincerely sad smile on his lips.

"Go on." Stella, arms folded across her chest, leaning back in her chair and growing less tolerant for this man's nonsense as every minute passed.

"A cleansing by fire. It is the same as the cleansing by crucifixion that I have been carrying out recently." Self-satisfied smile, replaced by a scowl. "He backed out at the last minute and in the ensuing struggle, he burnt off my fingerpads. Do you know how troublesome that is? And all while I was doing a good deed. But the Lord has repaid my suffering with bountiful rewards."

"Howard didn't recognize you?"

"No, I transferred schools immediately after the incident, and changed my name as soon as it was legal. Tracked him down afterward to finish what I started. But where the baptisms of water and fire fail, there is only one path."

Stella grit her teeth. "So why didn't you stop there? Why continue?"

"Because I saw what the Lord had sent me to do was good. There are so many who need to be cleansed, I couldn't just _stop_ after I'd found my holy calling."

The smile returned, and that was the limit of what Stella _or_ Don could take. Just as the latter was ready to barge in and beat the living daylights out of their convict, Stella signaled to the uniformed officer keeping guard, and White was _escorted_ to a holding cell. Don met his coldly smiling eyes with burning anger, but it only seemed to make him even happier.

* * *

Pulse.

* * *

"Jury, have you reached your verdict?"

The jury foreman stood. "Yes, you honour."

"Do you find the accused, Moses White, guilty on four counts of murder in the first degree?"

The courtroom was completely of wood, from the door to the floor and the rows of seats that made Don think of church pews. It was familiar, and he'd been on either side of the bar time and again; only, now, the whitewashed plaster that bordered the wood made him think of tiled white and other places he _should_ be right now – not here.

"We, the jury, find Moses White guilty."

How nice, Don thought bitterly, that this man – just another businessman, probably – could deliver the judgment so calmly. He hadn't lived through what he and Danny – _Danny_ – had, and it was supposed to _be_ that way, of course, that's why they were in the force, but- The judge had even removed their names, and once more Don had to admit it was simple protocol… Still the images of the bodies circled his head, Howard, Gray, Hays, McLean… The morbid possibility of the Yamazaki brothers being added to that list-

Stella beside him clapped a hand on his shoulder. _Easy, there. Remember why you're here._

Right, because he wanted to see this bastard sent behind bars where he belonged. So he could give a first-hand account when (always the frightening possibility of "if") his partner woke up.

"And on two counts of attempted murder?"

On two counts of attempted murder, and one count of _assault__ against two federal officers_, resulting in possibly fatal injury- Ah, but White and his lawyer had argued some ridiculous stand about _line of duty_ two days back, and the judge had been forced to omit the clause. So the jury and the Sacred Infant congregation who were audience to the public hearing would never know that there was a CSI named Danny Messer who had risked his neck for them, and had been comatose for the past week because of a bullet through his chest.

"Guilty."

The judge nodded, and the foreman took his seat. "This court hereby finds the accused, Moses White, guilty on four counts of murder in the first degree and two counts of attempted murder." Necessary redundancy and repetition. "Defendant, you are hereby sentenced to life in prison."

Don didn't bother holding back his vindictive smirk.

"Court is adjourned."

"All rise."

The bailiff's voice rang out, and as the judge returned to the back room for a break, the rest of the courtroom crowded out. Stella, too, left, after a reassuring smile – her partner was waiting on her for the new case, already – but Don remained seated for a short moment longer; he had been glaring daggers at the back of White's head for the entire procedure, and now he would have the chance to see some regret on that-

-face. White, in an immaculate suit specially to impress the jury with his respectability, turned, _smiled_ at him, condescending and smug as while he'd had a gun at Danny's head. The bailiff gave him a light shove – _that's being too gentle, man_ – and steered him out.

Don left immediately after – whether he ran, or stormed out, he didn't stop to consider.

* * *

Pulse.

* * *

"Hey, Mac."

"Stella." The head CSI looked up from his microscope. "How'd it go?"

"Mm… As expected." Stella shrugged.

Both keeping their cool as best they could, even though they wanted as much as Don did to check on their colleague in the hospital. Lindsay was keeping vigil over the man, though, and in the meantime criminals didn't conveniently decide to take a break just because one officer had been downed. They would need clear logic – minds unclouded with worry – to nail their culprit, just as they had before.

A beat; Adam appeared around the corner.

"H-hi, boss… boss." Quirk, that only he would refer to them like that.

Stella nodded, smiling . "Hey, Adam."

Treading lightly, even though he'd done nothing wrong, as always. "Uh, I got- the CODIS results you wanted."

Mac held his hand out expectantly, and Adam hurried over.

"Looks like I'm not needed here?" Somewhat playful.

He offered her a small smile. "Go check in with Sid. He should be done with the autopsy report soon."

It might've just been her, but she was all too happy to escape the suddenly claustrophobic white of the trace lab.

* * *

"Ah, Stella. Here for the report, I take it? Sheldon and I are nearly done."

Pathology was pleasantly dim, in the bluish light that it had – for some reason – always had. Stella didn't know if it helped examination in any way, but it at least didn't call up images of sterile hospital wards; the autopsy lab worked on the opposite principle, after all. Sid smiled and gestured her over to the table, where Sheldon was examining the skin of the newly-sewn-up body. He looked up and flashed her a brief smile, before returning his attention to the corpse's arm, too sensitive to ask and leaving Sid to give his eccentric-as-usual commentary of their results.

As usual.

As if.

* * *

Pulse.

"Hey, Messer, you better wake up before your boyfriend gets back, y'hear me?"

Lindsay sighed and leant back in her chair. Jabs at the man's "dubious" relationship with his partner weren't any good while he was unconscious – even less so when she could see the bandages under the U-neck of his hospital robes. The steady beep-beep of the heart monitor, the inaudible drip of the IV. Not that she didn't want to stay by her colleague and watch over him while the others couldn't, but the walls were starting to blind her with imaginary sunspots, and if Danny would just _wake up already_, it would save a _lot_ of people a _lot_ of grief.

Including her.

The door opened, revealing a tired-looking Don Flack not-so-fresh from the afternoon's hearing.

"Hey, Linds. How's he doin'?"

"Ah- not as good as he could be. Maybe he'll do better with you around."

"Very funny." The detective threw himself into a chair beside her.

Pause.

"…Listen, do you mind if I…"

"I can take it from here, Monroe. Lab probably needs you, anyway."

Grateful smile, a pat on the back, and then she was out the door. Lindsay reminded Don of Stella more and more, recently; she'd really grown from country girl to experienced CSI. Including the clause that made it nearly obligatory for the people in their occupation to treat the labs as a sanctuary of sorts. Heck, even _he_ did. And… Danny would probably prefer to wake in familiar surroundings too, wouldn't he…?

"Hey, Mess'."

Mess', because the job was over, and everything was supposed to be normal now. No more distinctions between "Danny", or "Messer", or "Mess'", or "Danno". Just- like nothing ever happened. Deyon Marx and Dominick Flynn no longer existed; Don could breathe now, they both could, if only Danny would survive and show _some_ sign he was recovering…

"We got him, y'know. Life sentence. Too bad we don't have capital punishment here… He was _laughing_ at us, man." Tired breath. "You don't think we could make him crucify him_self_-?"

* * *

Pulse.

_Don? …Dom? Don? Who'd we get? Who's laughin' at us? Who d'ya want dead so bad? ...Oh, that- Bastard who put the bullet through my chest. Still bloody hurts, man. Don't wanna wake up, not yet, ah f-

* * *

_

Don froze.

There, again. Danny's fingers twitched slightly, and the monitor sounded quicker for a few short moments before stabilizing. He was conscious, then. No need for fluttering eyelids, or quiet complaints as he adjusted to the clinical light of the ward – his eyelids remained glued shut.

"_Dey'_, hey, I'm here, you alrigh-"

The detective felt like biting his tongue off. _Deyon_. Had he _really_ just _done_ that? And the first thing Danny had heard upon waking up was his _undercover name_, because Don's system had yet to wash the trained instinct out. To avoid detection, his first reaction in times of panic, when the adrenalin coursed through his body – it _had_ to be "Deyon". Had. Don didn't understand; other undercover jobs and the personalities that had come with them – all of those vanished within a week. Why now-?

Ah, but he _did_ understand, didn't he? He hadn't been able to wait to shed _those_ identities, to get away from the drugs and the malice… But this… There was something…

"Danny. Right. Sorry 'bout that. Danno."

The slight upward tilt of the lips. _Can't talk now, Don._

"I'll be here… Glad you're awake." And Don allowed himself to slump farther down the chair, heaving a sigh of relief.

A slight frown, now. _If I could talk right now, Flack-_

"Wait, I know what you're thinking, Mess'. Give it up, I'm not goin' anywhere."

…_Thanks…_

* * *

Danny listened absently – rather, with as much concentration as he could muster – to his partner's recount of the past week. Mostly, it was just the soothing baritone rhythm of his voice that got through; otherwise, he barely registered the actual information through the sharp pounding in his chest. That they'd handed the case over to the uniforms, and they were investigating the whole church just to be sure, that the Yamazaki brothers had come by to visit, that –

_Doctor said White missed your heart by _this_ much, Danno. _No matter how much "this" was, considering he couldn't see Don gesturing – if he even _was_ gesturing.

But he sounded panicked. Else overly-relieved. Danny wanted to say, _it was nothing, we've been shot before_. He wanted to say, _you've been caught in a bomb explosion and I had to live through that, so it's your turn now, buddy._ He wanted to say-

Oh, there were a lot of things he wanted to say. Danny Messer was, after all, a talkative man, and Don Flack was, after all, his best friend. A surrogate brother, even, close enough that Dominick Flynn and Deyon Marx had been… convincing. Enough to lure their killer out – as planned.

There were things that hadn't turned out as planned, though. Of course – the question that lurked in the back of his morphine-blank mind – what if? And there was no doubt it haunted his partner as well; what if? The first word he had properly registered had not been "Danny", but "Deyon". And he hadn't immediately picked up on it, either. He'd wanted to reply in kind, his mind naturally forgetting that as much as the bullet _hadn't_ ended his life, it _had_ ended their assignment.

They were both holding on to something. And what _if_ what they'd arbitrarily defined as "friendship" _wasn't_- What if they'd just decided it _was_, because –

Because what, exactly?

Danny doubted his brain was in any good condition for this kind of ridiculous expostulation (ridiculous, was it?) but he knew very, _very_, well, that he was straight. Of course he was; and of course, Don was, too. But after spending those weeks literally living a lie – he was new to going undercover, unlike Don – he didn't really know what to think. He wished it was only the morphine, but now, more than ever, he could see that nothing was right, and nothing was wrong. Because if it were right, people wouldn't kill because of it, and if it were wrong, people wouldn't die for it. Yet they did, and he'd _been_ there. He was _here_, nearly dead, himself.

Helpless. The memory of the frantic inner screaming, of clawing at White's arms, needing just that little bit of leverage he knew he wouldn't get. Of- Of not caring about what happened to himself, just. Just that Don was safe, that he got that stake and that hammer and the bastard who was trying to kill them both _away_ from his-

Best friend.

* * *

Notes:  
Don caught in a bomb explosion reference to CSI:NY 224, Charge Of This Post.


	16. Chapter 15: Moglie

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Fifteen: Moglie (Misery Without Company)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

The first thing Danny saw when he finally pried his comatose-heavy eyelids open, was his partner, Don Flack. He was, of course, immensely glad for it, but there was a split second his doped-up brain couldn't help but wonder, why "Don" registered as far more… _positive_… than – say – simply "not-doctor" or "not-white". Said doctor had come in and checked him over, after he'd regained consciousness and Don had dutifully – belatedly – called it in. Danny had assumed his partner had left the ward, and so it didn't cross his mind to exert even the slightest effort to open his eyes.

…_Why?_ Because the moment he'd heard the door open and shut, open and shut again, heard the muted pace he just _knew_ belonged to his partner, all his nerve endings had fired, and his body had somehow forced his eyes open, though it couldn't manage to the semblance of a sitting position he was currently in. No, that had been Don helping him up, and that had been when his eyes had actually adjusted to the blinding hospital lights and registered the blue eyes _this_ close to his face.

Danny didn't even want to think about it, right now.

"…Glad you're awake, Danno."

"You… just _couldn't_ wait… to call… the doctor in… huh." Labored, embarrassingly so, for an agent who'd been on the field so long.

"Hey. Was for your own good."

Grins on both their faces, and Don _nearly_ reached over to punch his partner on the shoulder. It amounted to a shift in his arm, and a slight fade in his eyes. In Danny's eyes, too, when he realized – it was both the reminder of the weakness, and the _other_ that hung in the atmosphere of the room. No matter, no matter.

Awkwardly. "Oh, hey yeah. I better call it in. The rest of the lab-"

"Is already here." Mac, the amused half-chide familiar to their ears.

Synchronized motion, as the main lab staff appeared around the door. Don and Danny turned to face their colleagues – their family, really – and were met with matching warm smiles.

"Hey. How're you doin', Messer?"

"'m good, Montana… Good." He shifted slightly. "Hey- How'd you guys know-"

"Well, even though _someone_ forgot, the hospital didn't."

Stella rounded the chair Lindsay had settled in, one hand resting on its back, the other on her hip, and an amused smile on her lips. "Cut Don some slack, Linds. We know it's been hard on both of you."

"Congrats on surviving." Sheldon offered a smile and seated himself beside Don.

Sid clicked his glasses off the bridge of his nose and back around his neck. "Not- that we were betting on your odds of survival-"

"We _were_?" As usual, Adam, a step behind the rest, though –

"They _weren't_, Adam." Mac shook his head lightly. "Although, if you guys _did_, I certainly wasn't around for it."

(Interrupted _I wasn't there either-_)

"You're never _around_ for betting pools, Mac. But seriously, boys, we weren't."

"No, we were betting on something else."

An almost wicked smile from Lindsay, to match the glint in her brown eyes.

"…No, I do _not_ wanna hear that." Don mock-glared at the country girl. "The assignment is _over_; we do _not_ need to put up with any of _that_ any longer."

"Says the one who-"

"Easy, Montana! Can y'see the tubes? I'm warded, right? Not supposed to agitate the patient."

He gestured to the medical setup around him, finally getting used to having his body and consciousness back. The presence of the CSI crew had helped him liven up as well, of course, and Lindsay decided to pick on it.

"You don't sound very sick to me, Messer."

"How a person _sounds_ usually doesn't have much of a correlation with how they _feel_, Lindsay."

"Thank you, Sid."

Stella winked at the pathologist. "Anyway, me'n Mac figured we'd bring a little something_-_"

"But since you're _sick_, Danny," a rare smile from Mac, "I guess you won't mind skipping out on the beer?"

"As a doctor, I have to say, Mac, that's not really allowed…"

Don nudged said doctor sitting beside him, "C'mon, Sheldon, ease up!"

"Ey, if I'm not getting any, you guys ain't getting any either, y'hear?"

"_Really_, Danny, you're _not_ getting any?" Don, arms folded, lips split in a grin at the unintentional innuendo.

"Whad'ya think, Flack? I've been attached to _your_ hipbone for the past who-knows-how-long-"

Lindsay snickered and leaned back toward Stella. Conspiratorially, "There goes the bet, huh, Stel."

Danny turned sharply. "Bet, what bet- I heard that, Montana-" Beat, as his eyes blanked out for a moment. "Ah sh-"

The CSI subsided into the pillows his partner had set about him, his breathing shallow and quick. A sudden, fierce pain in his chest now, probably because he'd taxed himself too much too fast to keep up with the team. He could almost feel the cavity left by the bullet, though – of course – it had knitted up by now, else he wouldn't even be awake…

"There, see what you did, Montana?" Don was immediately at his side. "You okay, Mess?"

A nod, and Danny forced himself to calm down. Long breaths, even if it hurt. The pain slowly stabilized, returning to the almost-ignorable pounding that he'd withstood throughout the conversation. Damn, no wonder his body had decided to break for so long. How long had Don said he'd been out? _That_ long, right, with the gesture that he couldn't see, without the further elaboration he'd not had the time to ask for – and his body still wasn't fully recovered.

_Pathetic, Messer._

But it was a joking thought, warm with the concern from his friends around him. They knew it wasn't a vicious attack, per se – just a slight acting up. Nothing to _panic_ over, and experience told them, including Danny, it was better to just stay calm, to bear with it for just that short while longer –

"You know, I can just up the morphine dosage for you." Sheldon, with a lopsided grin to hide his anxiety.

"Now, now, Hawkes. There are cameras in this room."

And the team was laughing, and Danny's chest had subsided enough to laugh along with them.

* * *

The team left in the evening – even Don, almost physically dragged out by the senior detectives working in tandem. The night, at least, Danny found tolerable, peaceful non-comatose sleep at long last resting his mind in a way being unconscious simply didn't offer. But the next day – the next day wasn't pleasant. At all. Sure, it started wonderful, but –

* * *

In the morning, Don dropped by, Starbucks in hand. It was… awkward, but alright. The synchrony just wasn't there anymore. They were too afraid of upsetting the delicate balances they'd built in their minds, too afraid of losing something they weren't even sure they had. Trying to reach something they didn't even know existed.

Still, Don laughed and teased Danny for having to suffer through hospital food as he drank his morning coffee and had his suddenly appealing breakfast of bagels. They didn't talk about their assignment, they barely talked at all, because conversation started sounding forced after _so, how long was I out?_ But that was alright, too. Sleep had done both of them good; even Don, sleep-deprived though not as he'd survived on some cases, seemed fresher.

It was – they _were_ just Don and Danny again, partners and best friends. If only it would start _feeling_ like it.

* * *

Don left shortly after, the precinct no longer willing to spare one of their top detectives for an in-patient out of danger. Danny understood all too well what it was like, juggling work and a bedridden friend; his brother still weighed at the back of his mind, after all. Still, his partner left only with a promise to be back later, after he and the CSIs changed shifts – and to bring beer. Danny laughed and waved him off.

The door opened again only that afternoon, a nurse announcing _Mr Messer, you have a visitor, a lady?_ and the detective was expecting either Stella or Lindsay, else one of the girls from the lab or the precinct, but said intruder was, succinctly, a stranger. In his automatic detective's description, white, middle-aged, blonde-haired-blue-eyed, carrying a simple, unbranded tote bag. An average housewife.

She stood just in the room, past the door, almost shrinking in on herself.

"I'm sorry, but I think you got the wrong room, lady."

"Oh, n-o, not at all. Detective Danny Messer?"

He nodded, curious.

"Better known to my husband as Deyon Marx." And she paced forward, looking increasingly unsure as she neared.

Wince.

"You don't know me, but maybe you've heard of me from your cell group meetings. My name is Jennifer White."

Oh. _Wow._ Talk about opposites attract. Such a gentle, meek voice – melodic, and child-like, even. How did this lady end up with _that_ bastard? If someone at the labs – Mac even – told him he'd have to play good cop to White's wife, he would've hightailed it and left Don to deal with whoever, but this – how could he _not_ be nice?

"Mrs White. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing in particular, Detective. I, would just like to apologize for my husband's behavior. He's never… I didn't know he was like that. Sincerely, I-"

"Hey, it's alright, y'know? You didn't know, and he won't hurt anyone after this. No hard feelings." A white lie. A little white lie.

"But seeing you like this… W-ill you let me pray for you, at least? For you and your partner?"

"I-I'd like that, thank you. Me'n Don, both. Y'know what, he's coming back in a while, why don't you take a seat, and we can talk while we wait for him?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you, Danny- May I call you that?"

"Sure." A kind smile. "Can I call you Jennifer?"

"Of course." Beat, as she sat herself down, and placed her bag on the floor. "…We're not all, like that," she offered a weak smile, "you know."

"Yeah, me'n Don met the rest of the church, even if only a little. Great people. Especially the four…"

Her eyes lit up, ever-so-slightly. "Yes, I've met them before. All such nice people… You know, for most of us… Even if it is a sin, we still love the people, and… they really were…"

Danny nodded, remembering how he and his partner had first met McLean and Hays.

He shook his head slightly when he felt the tears welling up. A sad smile for all the lives he and the team had been unable to save, because of… So many little things. He felt surprisingly at ease talking to _this_ White, with her calming aura. Peaceful. If he'd ever seen a Christian, she was it. Trusting, loving, and to _apologize_ after he'd thrown her husband in jail – well, suffice to say most wives would have pulled the plug on his morphine drip by now.

* * *

Don came by a short while later, and there was momentary surprise on his face when he saw the unknown blonde sitting by his partner's bed. Danny waved him in, introduced them, and they had a short chat before Mrs White – really, he almost felt like calling her _Lady_ White, what with how she carried herself – brought up the prayer again. Neither detective were adverse to the idea, though they couldn't say they _believed_, per se, in God. But God was good, and "good", they could believe in.

"Shall I begin?"

Nods to the affirmative.

She closed her eyes, and they followed suit, all three of them bowing their heads.

"Dear Lord, we come to You today to pray for healing. For Danny and Don, who risked their lives to save so many others. Surely Lord, though all is naught in the light of Your good works and grace, these men are to be commended. For all that my husband has done to them, Lord, heal them and bless them and shine Your favor upon them. Let not Jon, or Logan, or Randal, or Tim, be forgotten, and may they forever be in Your sight, even as You, in Your everlasting mercy, yet withhold the punishment due to their aggressor. We thank You, for Don and Danny, and their courage, and for whatever lessons that You have in store for us through this trail. In Jesus' holy name we pray, amen."

"Amen."

"Amen."

"Thank you, for stopping by, Jennifer. Me'n Don really appreciate it."

"Appreciate it," Don echoed, smiling warmly, and he shook her hand.

"Oh, any time… Do come by the church some time, I'm sure the Kousuke and Yuusuke would like to see you again, at least. The rest of the congregation would like to meet the brave heroes, as well – not to mention, I… still feel as if I owe you…" She laughed softly. "The Lord will bless you tenfold, I'm sure. I don't know why I worry so much."

She got up, gathered her bag into her arms.

"Oh, and, I know… My husband has said things against… Your relationship, but- Don't listen to the world. Listen to the Lord. And if you don't believe in Him directly- Listen to your hearts. Very often, they're one and the same."

And she disappeared out the door.

* * *

Danny's pleasant day had ended there, and it had promptly gone downhill. Whatever intentions the lady had had, his _relationship_ with Don had been strained as it was, both of them tiptoeing around each other like fools. Seemingly mystical advice aside, the calming effect she'd had on both of them should have helped. It should have, it should have.

_It should have, damn it._

Instead, after they'd had a short laugh about it, and about whatever had happened at work that day – and Danny felt like crying, bloody hell, just thinking about how it'd gone so _wrong_ –

Don had looked at him with _that look_, that serious look, that meant _we need to talk_, and said "Hey, Mess-"

And Danny had looked at him with _these eyes_, these vulnerable I-don't-know eyes, before turning away and stonewalling him. "Hey, you probably have a hell of a day up for you tomorrow, huh. Maybe you should-"

"Yeah. Don't want Mac to get on my case."

Danny didn't even turn to watch him go.

He didn't even know what his partner had wanted to say. He didn't even know. Don could've wanted to just clear the air, just get it straight – that they were both, well, straight. Just say it, get it over with, laugh about it. They would tell newbie CSIs about it in a year or so. Lindsay and Stella would tease them. Whatever half-secret betting pool would go (probably) to Sid, scheming genius that he was.

But he'd been scared. He knew, now, almost, what he was afraid of, but he didn't want to admit it. Just.

No.

Not yet.

Not now.

_Ah, f-_

* * *

Author's Note: I don't even know why I put up that Authoress' Note in between Emozione and Ancora, considering I'm so irregular _now_, and it's without notice. . I cite personal reasons, that I can't really put up here... In any case, sincerest apologies to all who have been kept waiting! Again, thank you for reviewing, and I dearly hope this is up to standard._  
_


	17. Chapter 16: Indietro

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Sixteen: Indietro (One Step Forward)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"Hey, welcome back, man."

"Yeah, hey. 's good t'be home, y'know?"

Sheldon was the first person to greet Danny on his first day back, after days in the hospital even _after_ he woke up, and as many days confined to rest at home. (Danny would later complain it felt rather more like house arrest, but for now he was just glad to be back at work.) They met just by the lifts on the Trace floor of their building, Sheldon heading down to Pathology, and Danny coming up to report to Mac. The doctor flashed a warm grin and clapped his colleague on the shoulder, before entering the lift as the other stepped out onto the linoleum floor.

"See you around, Mess."

And the lift doors slid close, just in time to hide the shadow that flitted over Danny's face. The last time he and Don had spoken; Don had called him that, hadn't he? House arrest had been just _that_ much drearier for the lack of his best friend and closest colleague. Even with the inevitable tension considered, he would've been grateful for a visit, but the man had – been busy, probably. Like the rest of the CSI lab. After all, just because one officer was out of commission, didn't mean the multitude of criminals living in the Big Apple would call an off day.

He rapped the glass wall of Mac's office as he entered, leaned nonchalantly against the doorway. "Mac."

"Oh, Danny." Stella rounded the corner before her partner could reply. "Hey, welcome back."

An amused smile, and the droll wit of the head CSI. "Now get back to work."  
Stella laughed silently. "I'm sure he missed you, too, Mac. Come on, Messer, I've just gotten a sample for UV analysis, I'll let you do it."

As Mac returned to his paperwork, Stella and Danny took the familiar ten-second walk down the corridor to the main trace lab. The familiar scenes on either side of him, through the glass – Adam at the mass spectrometer, and Lindsay working at distillation of what was no doubt liquid trace from a recent scene.

"Consider it done, Stel." A charming smile, a tile of the head. "Give it here."

* * *

Weeks – a month, now.

Stella didn't quite understand. Aside from the widely accepted fact that Sid was pretty damn near psychic when it came to bets, for things to have turned out as they did…

Don was _avoiding_ Danny. And vice versa.

…_Which_ was understandable; undercover jobs always tended to leave their mark on agents – except that they had _already_ recovered. Both at full operational capacity, it was like the Crucifixion Case had never happened in the first place, until Mac had tried to assign them to the same case. They were both strong men, and prideful – Stella couldn't imagine how bad the situation must be underneath their bravados, to actually make them beg off from the case. Separately, of course.

* * *

"_Hey, boss." Pause. It showed how nervous he was, reverting to the so-called title. "It's about the Smith case."_

"_What about it?"_

"_Look, I'm glad you're putting me back out on the field 'n'all, but-"_

_Quick as ever, Mac looked up from his microscope, gaze piercing straight through all the little white lies Danny had prepared on the way in. "Is it Don?"_

"_N-o, not Don _exactly_." Danny sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You _know_ we won't be able to pull it off."_

_Not anymore, he wanted to add, not like we could before, as much as we – _I_, at least – want to. Not with a bloody mammoth in the metaphorical room. Hell, we didn't even want to go for the Crucifixion case in the first place, and yet here we are. Here._

"…_If I have to, I have to, y'know? Same as always."_

"_I'll see what I can do. …Although, the lab does think you and Don should-"_

"_Yeah, we got it-" Snappish, a tone you simply didn't take up against Mac Taylor unless you were looking for a fight. Danny toned it down. "Thanks, Mac."_

* * *

"_Stella, I need a favour."_

"_If I have to introduce you to any of my girl-friends, Flack, no."_

"_I don't need a matchmaker, Bonasera, you know that."_

"_Oh, really?" Amused, lopsided smile. "So, what did you want?"_

_Don sighed, massaged his forehead lightly. How to phrase his request, in a way that wouldn't set Stella's scarily accurate maternal instincts ringing alarm bells? Stel, I have relationship issues with the guy who was once my best friend, though not the kind you're thinking of – but it's still your fault, so I expect you to take responsibility by letting me _not_ work the same case as him. She would smile that skeptical smile of hers, and promptly report to Mac. Heck, even if he pulled everything off perfect, Mac would _still_ find out – and in extension, so would the rest of the lab._

_And Danny. Would he think Don was trying to avoid him out of animosity? Was _he_ avoiding Don out of animosity?_

"_Flack. You're taking too long to reply. If you don't want me to worry, you're gonna have to do better than that."_

_Don shook his head. "Sorry, Stel. Just do me a favour and let me off the Smith case, alright?"_

"_Danny problems?"_

"_Just problems in general." The detective hoped he sounded convincing._

"…_I'll talk to Mac."_

"_Thanks."_

* * *

Tough as he was, the lab had expected Mac to have them suck it up, but Stella's trust in his judgment was not misplaced. In the end, Stella had been the one to work with Don – all smiles and sarcasm as usual, hauling in their suspect unceremoniously. Bright blue eyes that only ever darkened when met with similarly blue Italian eyes. Said half-Italian also refused to so much as look at his former partner, putting one of their most effective teams – ideal for hunting down runners, since both males were more than suited for field work – off the roster, indefinitely.

Despite bets (that had all been made in the name of fun, anyway), the lab just wanted to see the two back together as friends, working together and going out for the occasional basketball match on their occasional days off. But no.

Vaguely, looking up from her workstation, she watched as they passed each other in the corridor, shoulders actually brushing without either acknowledging the other's presence, and Stella wondered if it really _was_ her fault.

* * *

"Mac."

"Don."

"Hey, listen, I was thinking… I should get a transfer out of New York."

"Out of New York."

"Yeah. I'm getting in the way, y'know? I mean, me'n Danny… It's not like we don't know the trouble we're causing. Must suck to have people who can't get along on your team, huh."

"…I believe Sid would suggest that you try and solve the problem first, before taking such drastic action."

"We have-"

A pointed look.

"Alright, so we haven't tried as hard as we could've. But come on, Mac. Not everyone can maintain the status quo as well as you and Stella can."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Don chewed lightly on the inside of his cheek. "So yeah, I thought I'd give you a heads-up before I put in the application."

"Have you told Danny?"

"…No."

Mac didn't actually move his shoulders by much, but there was the air of a shrug – also of a sigh – around him as he spoke. "You also have something regarding the case, I hope?"

"O-oh, yeah."

_Don't want Mac to get on my case._ Like that morning in the hospital – they'd just switched topics so completely, it was almost as if they'd not touched on the original subject at all. And yet they had – Danny and him – and, maybe, if he hadn't been so hasty with _we need to talk_, none of this would have happened.

He shook his head inwardly, clearing his mind, and held out the field report from the precinct as Mac crossed the room to receive it. They were working a cold case, though not as old as most. A few months – half a year, at most – ago, there'd been a case they'd left unsolved. With a new scene apparently by the same killer, though, they were attempting to draw a link between them and hence get the elusive killer.

Said killer was almost as good at hiding as Moses White.

But they could deal. Don was sure of it. In fact, it helped to occupy his mind so he didn't start thinking about nonsense from his latest undercover job. He even felt willing to go under for a drug cartel, now, if only to let that consume his thoughts – unfortunately, such assignments weren't exactly in abundance, and, anyway, Don knew he'd regret it sometime in the future.

"Let's take a walk, Flack."

* * *

Said walk turned out to lead a few levels down via the stairs, to pathology. Sid had retrieved the old body to be re-examined for new clues, and they would probably pick the report up as well. But they were also there for something else – as eccentric as he was, Sid Hammerback was still a genius, and a highly caring one at that. Even Stella relied on him for advice – as such, Don somewhat hoped the pathologist would absently decide to give a mini-lecture on- Something that would help him.

Autopsy presentation done with, Sid did as predicted, and Mac pressed Don's shoulder reassuringly before leaving the room.

"So, I hear you're planning to leave?"'

"Wow, that was fast."

"Mac told me while you weren't listening."

"I see."

"Well, there are only so many reasons a person wants to be transferred from a department. I assume, in your case, that it has to do with Danny."

"'ve heard _that_ multiple times today."

"Really? Because I thought I sounded quite original. …Anyway – all I'm saying is, talk to him, before you even pick up the application."

Don nodded resignedly.

* * *

In the trace lab, Danny stood, examining a bacteria sample under a microscope. Lindsay entered the lab, a profile folder in hand, and he looked up.

"Hey, Montana. Y'got anything?"

"Plenty. Sid found a match to our vic' in IAFIS. Jason Williams, forty-one, high school teacher. Adam is running the other prints we found at the scene through the school's database; hopefully we'll get a match."

"A school teacher, huh. I think… I have… evidence to support that."

He gestured to the mass spectrometer printouts of the chemical traces they'd found on Williams' body. They'd been crudely created, with concentration and consistency completely unaccounted for. But that was precisely the kind of product you would get from a reaction carried out in a school's laboratory. All they needed to do now, was to find the student, and then bridge the gap.

Lindsay, however, didn't seem to think that that was enough of a workload. "Oh, by the way – Don's thinking of leaving New York."

"What?"

"Don. Is. Thinking of leaving. New York."

Danny didn't break the ensuing silence, instead choosing to nibble at the inside surface of his lips.

"Hey, Mess."

_Don't call me that._ "So he's leaving."

Lindsay nodded. "Yeah. I don't know much, either. I just walked in on Mac and Stella while they were discussing it."

Danny sighed and returned his gaze to the field of the microscope.

Quietly, in the background, he heard Lindsay murmur: "I wasn't supposed to tell you, really. Mac wants Don to do it himself, but I figured it'd do you good to prepare."

"Thanks, Monroe, really. But I don't need it."

A little more snappish than usual; especially since he'd used her last name. He almost never used her last name – it had always seemed too formal, else brusque, for a person close enough to be considered his younger sister, just as the rest of the lab was his family. He looked up to apologize, but instead of Lindsay Monroe's white labcoat, he was met with the black and silver-gray of his (ex-?)partner's suit.

"Don."

"Danny."


	18. Chapter 17: Parla

**Sotto copertura**

_Chapter Seventeen: Parla (Reason For Transfer: NIL)_

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

"Hey Montana-"

"Just go, Flack. You both need it. I can hold the fort on my own, easy."

Don didn't look up, and Danny didn't break eye contact.

"Thanks, Linds'."

No matter that it was the middle of the day, and no matter that there was work waiting in the labs; in fact, no matter that they had refused to even acknowledge each others' existences for the longest time. Don waited, leaning absently against the locker beside Danny's as the man hung his lab coat up. _Arms folded, waiting for Danny to finish up in the kitchen so they could have dinner._

They left after, a sullen sort of silence between them in the lift and down the road. It wasn't so busy now, just after lunch, all the office workers filed back to their respective buildings. It was, in truth, a little lonely – all reflective glass and half-empty cafes, and two men in their grey suits, eyes to the grey pavement, to the flat, stark sky. Away, even though they walked stiffly side by side.

And yet, Danny couldn't help but think, _this is an improvement_. An improvement.

"Hey, Mess."

"…Alcohol first, talk later."

"'m pretty sure Stella would object to that-"

Danny smiled, glanced at his- partner.

They turned the corner in sync.

* * *

The bar they ended up in wasn't one they frequented – it was simply the only one they knew would be open. But the two cops had never really noticed the ambience from bar to bar, and it didn't bother them, even today, with the afternoon light sneaking in under heavy floor-length curtains.

If anything, it was that the air was warmer than usual. Just a little.

There was a booth in the back of the store; they paused for only a split second before Don gave the other man a light push. They split up automatically – almost naturally – and Don called for two pints. By the time he reached the bar, elbows resting against the old-style wood counter, the bartender was ready with their order. Years of experience in the interrogation room showed Don the blank surprise that nearly all people in the service industry somehow mastered after a while; in the end, people just don't come drinking at this time, he thought absently, as he padded over to Danny, beers in hand.

He didn't even have the time to settle in properly before Danny started talking. "So, you're leaving."

Don raised an eyebrow. _What happened to alcohol first?_ "I'm thinking about it."

Danny pulled a pint to himself and drank. Dragged, more like, as if he were smoking, even though Danny Messer didn't smoke. The nicotine rush of a chain-smoker… And Don remembered that he had been running, too. Escaping from thoughts even less solid or straightforward than both their… _problematic_… siblings. They had been running together… Away from each other.

He took a drag, too.

* * *

Danny didn't speak until he'd finished his pint, and then only after he'd gotten another round on the table. Don was a little behind, but he raised his mug to the empty air and finished the remains of his first pint in one go.

His partner was waiting for him, second pint in hand, and they touched their mugs with the thick clank of full glasses.

"Don't go."

It took Don a split second or two to recall the fragment of conversation they'd had earlier; he didn't reply.

"I- mean, if you transfer out, we'll have to train some other cop to listen to reason- We might as well get one of your dogs, man."

Laughter.

"_Pray_ you get one with a brain. We got some brutes in the kennels, too, you know."

"Which is why I'm telling you, Flack, don't go."

Twice, Danny thought suddenly, sounds too insistent. Despite the jabs at the precinct's intelligence – which were, of course, honestly nothing more than jabs – no amount of desperately-meant smiles or laughter would cover his innate fear of losing his partner once and for all. _Feels like I lost him already._

"I don't know, Mess."

"If you- don't know-" Danny sighed. "Why're you still calling me that, Flack? You're- leaving, aren't you?"

His voice didn't crack. It didn't. He gulped down just enough beer, just fast enough, that it blocked all his senses for the split second Don hesitated in his answer.

Time paused. _Why don't you call me Danny?_

Resumed.

"_What_, can't I call my partner by his nickname anymore?"

Danny had wanted to reply calmly; instead, he found himself snarling, "Are we even still _partners_?"

"Why _not_." Don all but slammed his mug back onto the table, foam sloshing about the surface of the beer.

"You're _leaving_, remember?" Cold hiss. "And we've not worked a case for- Mac knows how long."

If this had been any other argument, they would have laughed. The situation would have diffused. Because, really, Mac seemed to know everything about anything that happened in his labs. But they'd both been keeping close track on the time that had passed, though neither wanted to admit it – they both knew too well to laugh.

"And you ask," Don returned, bitter, "why I'm leaving."

Quiet glower, his voice dangerously low. "Go on, Flack. _Why?_"

_The same reason you won't call me Don, Mess. _The detective sighed. "We can't work together anymore, Mess. You know that as well as I do."

"That doesn't mean you have to leave." Pause, if only to convince himself of his wavering trust in his own logic. "We can wait it out. It'll go away."

"Like it always does?"

"Like it always does."

Don rolled his eyes and left the booth for a third round. The bartender's expression was, unsurprisingly, a little more pronounced. Without being asked, he produced a third pair of beer pints, accompanied with a look of warning. Don unofficially added the bar to his beat; as inconspicuous as it had always seemed, the bartender seemed too used to possible violence for it to be left unchecked.

That was, of course, if he and Danny didn't cause the first reported incident.

* * *

"It doesn't always go away, Mess."

Danny accepted the mug from his partner. "I know, Flack. I'm not fresh from the Police Academy."

"You're thinking like one."

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly, thank you." Sharp bite to the edge of his words. "You're the one who's being childish."

_You're the one who's running away._

"I'm not running. Not anymore than you are."

Danny Messer, while a good thinker, had already proved to himself – so many times – that he would rather act. Act on impulse. _The_ impulse, created by the sudden realization Don had read so easily between the lines of his accusation, as he always had. It had never stopped, even during the weeks they had tried to ignore each other; they would find themselves meeting in the corridors, and they would walk past each other, and the static –

The unspoken _damn, I wish it hadn't turned out this way._

But it had, and Danny Messer didn't feel like thinking right now. They had been in this situation once before, the once that so starkly burnt in his mind. The apartment, the canned beer, the despair… The desperation. The… unknown… that didn't care to hide any longer.

He grabbed his partner by the collar, yanked him forward.

_Ey, Don. Don't hate me._

_You're leaving anyway, aren't you._

_Hell, you can get your ass transferred to the bloody North Pole and I wouldn't care._

_Just don't. Don't hate me._

* * *

Lips.

Don struggled for balance, hands planting on the tabletop for purchase as his partner held him by the collar and crushed their lips clumsily together.

Throughout the entire mission that had landed them in this mess in the first place, this had never happened. It had never _needed_ to happen, and at one point Don would have thought, _thank God, we were spared this humiliation, at the very least_. But now – now Don was wondering why they hadn't just done this earlier, and there wouldn't have been any tension; no trouble for the CSIs, no trouble for him and his partner.

_Partner_.

_Oh shit._

He shoved Danny away, quick enough that they both fell back into their seats, and couldn't do much more than watch each other for a few moments. Their eyes met again, maybe even more confused, maybe less. Don instinctively reached for his beer, and he drained it, eyes closed, just feeling the liquid gushing down his throat.

Time paused. Don didn't want to see through the warm rush, but he could imagine Danny's expression, anyway. From shellshocked to… As much hurt as he would let through. He wondered if it was arrogant of him to think that hurt was his fault, because he'd pushed him away so violently –

Resumed.

"Danny."

…He was smiling. It was a small smile, and not exactly the grin he'd give Lindsay or Stella – but that was just proof it was a genuine smile.

"Hey, man. I know it's selfish, but don't hate me, yeah?"

And he got up, rapped his fists on the table, made to walk out.

* * *

Danny found he wasn't crying.

Then again, he wasn't some woman who'd decided making an idol of a cop was a good idea. Not a weak little thing who'd kill herself over a single rejection or a single unattainable love. Hell, he still didn't know if the thing between him and Don was an honest love, or an infatuation, or just particularly long-lasting residue from their mission.

But it didn't matter; the air was clear between them now, and Don was leaving. And Danny didn't want to stay to find out that his partner hated him. He'd just remember the dumbfounded, flustered expression. A neutral expression that would leave him with innumerable what-ifs – possibilities that weighed down on him, and yet were so much lighter than the old ones.

Impulse.

He felt a hand on his wrist.

* * *

His partner worked on instinct, and Don realized it was about time he started using that tactic for himself. It worked only too well for Danny – wouldn't it work for him, as well?

He caught Danny's hand just as the man passed him.

"That's not what I wanna hear, Danno."

Danny turned to face him, blinked at the grip on his wrist. "…Don?"

"You don't just kiss a guy and walk out on him, moron."

Somehow, it wasn't as playful as he'd intended it to be. It came out subdued, almost pleading. Danny gently pulled his hand away, and for a split second Don thought he would leave, but Danny just crouched so their eye-levels were closer, as if Don was a child. Something to be...

Danny flashed his trademark charming grin. "Don't go, Don."

The detective feigned an exasperated sigh. "Alright, Mess, I won't."

_Third time's the charm. _"…I don't wanna be training dogs, buddy."

"Would these eyes lie?"

He batted his eyelids once, twice, shuttering blue against blue. Danny burst out laughing.

"I ain't no girl, Flack. Come on, we have work to do."

* * *

Don and Danny split the bill between them, and the bartender watched them leave with bland acceptance.

The world outside was bustling with the dinner crowd, all the office workers in the reddening orange of the sunset, grabbing a meal before heading home. The CSIs had no such luxury of fixed shifts, and the partners weaved around the other three-piece suits to get to their building.

The damage wasn't completely repaired. Life wasn't a fairytale that could be sealed with a kiss. They both knew that, but – well, they'd been through worse, hadn't they?

Together. As colleagues, friends, brothers in arms.

Just – suddenly, it seemed that adding "lovers" to that list… It'd need more than a little work, but, well –

It wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

Notes:  
"Would these eyes lie?" reference to CSI:NY 218, Live Or Let Die.


	19. Another Note From The Authoress

**Sotto copertura**

_Another Note._

By LoveAnimeForever

* * *

A Note From LoveAnimeForever:

To everyone who's followed Sotto copertura to the end – yes, sadly, it's the end. I must confess CSI:NY was never at the top of my fandom list, and after an agonizingly long wait (possibly for you, most definitely for me), I find I really haven't the inspiration to continue, even if it's just one chapter more. I didn't mean to leave it hanging as such, but then again the current end isn't all that bad. Sure, it's open-ended, but isn't that how most of CSI goes, anyway?

So, for everyone who's been waiting for the next chapter, I'll just say there's not going to be one. It was fun while it lasted, though. Maybe in the future I'll come back and finish up at long last, but for now I don't think that's going to happen.

My sincerest apologies to anyone who cares enough about or has paid enough attention to this story to feel let down or disappointed.

Until whenever,

LoveAnimeForever


End file.
